Blue Valor
by Laruto
Summary: Disguised as a male soldier and wanted for treason, Safira is forced into hiding inside of Notre Dame where she meets the kind hearted hunchback. As his compassionate nature slowly warms her frozen heart, her passion sets his passive blood aflame as together they learn the true meaning of bravery and love. [Quasi x OC]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"For no one is cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone."

 _Lamentations 3:31-33_

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A blood-curdling scream echoed through the halls of the two story home just as a clash of lightning whipped through the air. The screams developed into haunting sobs, followed with the sound of urgent footsteps running towards the screams.

Frederick de Chataupers appeared in the doorway of his daughter's nursery, wide brown eyes staring at his wife's slumped form beside her crib. He immediately rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and helping her to his feet.

"Chandra, what-" He began but the sound of glass crunching underneath his boot brought his gaze downward then frantically around the room.

One look into the empty crib and the broken window inside of his daughter's room and his own heart plummeted into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as if he had been delivered a painful blow. Glass was everywhere, on the floor, even inside the crib and if he had looked hard enough, he would have seen a large rock probably hiding in a dark corner of the room.

Someone had broken into the nursery and taken his newborn.

"No... _No_!" He shouted the final word, the woman in his arms weeping as her small form trembled against the larger man.

"Father...?" A soft voice drew their attention to the doorway.

The five year old boy rubbed his eyes tiredly for only a moment before he took in the scene before him; his father's anguished expression, his mother's tears, his sister's empty crib, the broken window.

"What's wrong with mother?" He questioned curiously.

"Go back to bed, Phoebus," His father ordered as calmly as his bed could.

"Where's Se-"

"Bed! _Now_!" Frederick barked, startling Phoebus who nearly leapt at the harshness of his father's voice.

Frederick didn't wait for his son to obey and released his wife. His long legs only had to make a few angry strides before he reached the door and pushed past Phoebus, the boy just managing to press his back against the door and out of his father's way.

Phoebus watched as his frantic father began to ready himself for his horse. Frederick was out the door in minutes, leaving Phoebus alone with his crying mother. He turned his gaze back into the room, his little heart racing at the sudden display of emotion from his usually calm and collected father; he had never seen him like that before.

And his mother... He had never known mothers could even cry. He walked into the room slowly and quietly, watching as she remained collapsed on the floor beside his sister's crib, gripping the wooden bars as if she were imprisoned.

"Mother...?" Phoebus spoke quietly.

Chandra's face was concealed by her long, ebony locks though he didn't need to see her face to know she was still crying. The woman let go of her death grip of the crib's bars long enough to wipe away her tears, forcing a pathetic smile for her son.

"You heard your father, Phoebus," She reprimanded him kindly though her voice trembled, "Off to bed, you."

Phoebus didn't budge, his own emotions beginning to take over. He looked towards the crib then back at his mother.

"Where's Selene?"

Chandra stared at Phoebus, fresh tears pouring out of her cheeks. She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled her son almost roughly into her arms, burying her face in his golden locks and sobbed quietly as she clung to him.

Phoebus returned his mother's embrace, his eyes stinging with tears. He closed his eyes as he took in his mother's comforting scent, his tears running down his round cheeks silently.

 _Selene…_

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"Rubina, will you hush up that child?!" The gypsy man demanded frantically, his eyes wide with fear as they ran through the dark city of Paris, the sound of a lone horse's hooves echoing behind them.

Rain was pouring down on them, Rubina struggled to keep the baby both quiet and as dry as possible. Their kidnapping would be for naught if they brought back a dead child. She held the child close to her chest, wrapping her colorful garbs around the already blanketed baby.

"I'm trying, Sacha," His wife countered, on the verge of tears as the bundle in her arms continued to cry amongst the chaos she had woken into. Wrapping her up closer, she muffled the child's screams against her, hoping it would be enough to silence her.

"We're almost to the hideout," He assured her, "This way! He's getting close!"

Rubina was on the brink of giving up at this point, delivering the child back and accepting her death sentence for kidnapping a soldier's daughter. But she followed her husband regardless, running until her legs felt as if they had been lit on fire.

The sound of hooves were slowly fading, allowing them room to breathe. After a while, the sound was completely gone. They had lost him and were able to enter the Court of Miracles without being seen.

As they made their way through the catacombs, the pair walked in silence to their home. When they arrived, the hideout was full of gypsies still awake. Ignoring the looks they received at the obvious bundle in Rubina's arms, they rushed past the first section of the Court of Miracles; one would call it a gypsy's market.

The second section of the hideout consisted mainly of forts, tents and huts, small enough for maybe three people maximum but it was a home nonetheless. The warmth of their humble household and the closing of the door behind them was like a wave of relief to both of them. But there was no time to celebrate just yet.

"Get yourself out of those wet clothes, my dear," Sacha spoke softly to his wife, his brown eyes filled with worry.

But the woman was too preoccupied removing the wet cloth from the crying child and replacing it with dry blankets as her husband lit a lantern in the dark room. The child's cries were drowning out as the warmth of the house surrounded her, the sound of gentle voices replacing the violent clashes of lightning that had startled her not too long ago.

Sacha stood behind his wife, looking over her shoulder at the child. This was the first time they had truly been able to look at her. Before this moment, they had not known if she was even a girl or boy. It was plain to see that she was not only a girl but one that looked as if she had been hand-carved by God himself.

"Oh, Sacha," Rubina whispered as she cradled the child in her arms, "She's... She's..."

Unable to finish, Rubina placed a tender kiss on the girl's ivory forehead. She ran her hands gently through the few charcoal locks that graced her delicate head.

"What's this...?" Sacha brought his hand to the child's neck, pulling out a glimpse of what looked like silver.

They examined it closely; it was a silver necklace, a crescent moon pendant hanging from it. Rubina frowned softly as Sacha began to gently remove it, a tense silence between them. It was only a reminder of the social status of the child they had chosen; the parents of this child would not be ones they could stand against were they caught.

Placing it in his pocket, Sacha turned his attention back to the child and spoke to take the tension away from his wife's features.

"What will we name her?"

The child cooed quietly, peering up at them with large eyes as blue and deep as the ocean itself. They would no doubt someday be even more beautiful when they sparkled with human knowledge and true emotion.

Rubina thought for only a moment before the child grasped her finger tightly, a small forming on her lips as she whispered.

"Safira."

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 _10 Years Later_

Captain Frederick stared hard into the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back tightly; the crackle of the wood and sparks being the only noise in the room as his wife sat in a nearby chair and sewed silently. No words needed to be spoken.

Though Selene's disappearance had brought a somberness to the house, no time of the year was more devastating than the day of her birth. It was the day she had been both given to the happy couple then cruelly snatched away.

Having spent years frantically and almost violently searching for her, age came swiftly to Frederick. He had almost become a shell of a man. He was easily irate and solemn to everyone except his wife and his son. Albeit his soft spot for his family, they still experienced first-hand how empty he felt without his daughter.

Even now, with Phoebus close to the age, he had been hesitant to pursue his dreams of becoming a soldier like his father in the near future. Having been assured to not hold back or feel guilty about leaving his parents, he promised himself he would become the best soldier he could be in the hopes that someday he may be the one to find Selene and bring her back home.

"Happy Birthday, Selene," Frederick whispered into the fire so lowly that not even his wife had heard as she whispered her own wishes tearfully.

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Safira ran through the Court of Miracles, her laughter echoing as she ducked and dodged through the obstacles of people and their tasks. Eyes followed her as well as shaking of their heads for it was typical Safira behavior to run recklessly through the Court of Miracles as if she were the only person living there.

What could they expect from a child who had never left the Court of Miracles especially on a day like today? Today was her tenth birthday and she was sure her parents would allow her to attend the Festival of Fools. Granted, they had said no each previous year but she had a good feeling about this year. Surely they would this time.

Every year it had been the same excuse.

 _You're too young._

 _It's dangerous out of the Court of Miracles._

 _Your father (or mother) needs you here._

Not this year. This year, both Rubina and Sacha were performing in the Festival of Fools and Safira refused to stay here alone.

As she continued to run towards her home, she failed to notice a toy that had been left by a careless gypsy child and tripped over it. She grunted as she landed on her stomach and could hear the deep chuckle of a man.

Pushing herself up off the ground, she looked over her shoulder and onto the smug face of Clopin Trouillefou. Rolling her eyes, Safira stood and dusted herself off as he began to speak.

"Running again, Safira?"

"What do you want, Clopin?" She asked, her bored tone amusing him.

"You know, you really shouldn't run," He continued as if he hadn't heard her, "You obviously saw what happens when you do."

" _That_ ," She pointed to the ground, "happened because _someone_ left that there. Not because I was running."

"And it tripped you because you were running," He smirked back.

Safira scowled at him furiously. Of all the days she had to run into him, it had to be on her birthday. Though Clopin had never been unkind to her, he was always eager to give her a hard time. It was no doubt because of how easily she was angered or irritated. She didn't realize it but the twenty two year old had a soft spot for her that stemmed from sympathy.

"Look, because it's your birthday," He said as if reading her mind, "I'll let you off with a warning this time. But tomorrow you won't be so lucky-"

With a scoff, she left him with an unfinished sentence and continued to run home. Clopin watched her run for a while before he, too, prepared for the Festival of Fools.

Safira skidded to a stop when she reached her home, clearing her throat and smoothing out any creases on her clothes before entering calmly. Despite her calm exterior, her heart was pounding when she saw her father sitting on his chair and sewing his costume while her mother did the same.

Her presence was immediately noticed as she entered the tiny hut, a warm smile spreading on each of her parent's faces. Both parents were currently sewing their costumes for the festival but the sound of their daughter walking through the door brought them to a stop.

"There's the birthday girl," Sacha spoke affectionately, dropping his task to open his arms wide for his daughter. He was rewarded with a fierce hug and a kiss on his cheek before she turned to her mother.

"Happy birthday, dear," Rubina kissed her daughter's forehead.

But both parents returned to their task quickly soon after. She watched them silently for a moment, trying to figure out a way to bring up the conversation. She had planned it all in her head but having to actually do it was a different story.

 _Well, here it goes_ , She thought to herself nervously.

"Mother? Father?"

"Yes, dear?" They responded in unison, their eyes focused on what they were doing.

"I was wondering..." She began, now beginning to fidget nervously, "Since it is my birthday-"

"Oh, don't think we've forgotten your birthday present!" Her mother suddenly exclaimed before rushing to the other side of the room.

"N-No, I don't mean that-"

"It's in here somewhere," Rubina continued shuffling through their items, "Sacha, where did you put it?"

"You had it last, my dear," He spoke gently as he fixed the bells on his costume.

"No, mother, father," Safira began again, frustration seeping into her tone, "I'm trying to tell you something."

"What is it, dear?" Rubina frowned as she turned to face Safira, Sacha's eyes also peering up from his work as they both caught the slight distress in their daughter's tone.

She had been flustered into forgetting the script she had rehearsed in her mind repeatedly.

"I want to go to the Festival of Fools!" She blurted out quickly, keeping her eyes mostly on her mother.

She received nothing. No response. No expression. She stared at her mother who merely stared back curiously for a moment before a warm smile spread on her face, bringing a nervous laugh out of Safira. Rubina approached her daughter, still smiling.

"Oh, darling," Rubina chuckled gently, bringing her hands to cup her daughter's face, "Darling, darling, darling... No."

Safira's smile was wiped off immediately. Rubina studied her daughter's face for a moment before she let her go and returned to what she had been doing when Safira came in; the birthday present completely forgotten.

"W-Why?" Safira spoke, trying her best to keep her voice from trembling. She looked at her father who guiltily kept his eyes on his sewing.

"It's much too dangerous-"

" _You're_ going," Safira interrupted defiantly, bringing their attention to her fully once again for she had never interrupted them when speaking before and much less with such a tone.

"Your father and I are adults and can handle ourselves," Rubina continued patiently, her neutral expression only fueling Safira's rage.

"So when will I be able to go?" She finally asked, her eyes darting to both of them, "When will I be able to outside ever?! Do you know that I am the only one of my friends who hasn't-"

"Yes, Safira, we are aware-"

"Then why?! Why can't I go?!" She began to shout at this point, her eyes stinging with tears, "I _want_ to go!"

"Safira, you are _not_ going out there," Rubina's tone turned deadly, "Ever."

There it was. It was out in the open for everyone in the room to hear. Safira looked at her father expectantly, hoping he would stand up and assure her it wasn't true. He only gave her a sorrowful look that could be described as remorse before dropping his gaze.

Safira felt her sobs escape her as she ran out of the hut and through the Court of Miracles. Only this time, no laughter echoed through the hideout.

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Safira had gone into hiding in the Court of Miracles; having been confined for ten years, she had known of places that not even the eldest living gypsy knew about. She waited until she knew her parents had left for the festival before returning home sullenly.

She had laid on the hard floor she called her bed, cushioned only by cloth they used to keep a barrier between the cold floor and their bodies. She cried harder than she had cried before, still unable to grasp that as she lay there, she was alone while her parents were above the ground. Her tears had exhausted her into sleep.

She had woken hours later, her head throbbing painfully as she rubbed the dried tears from her eyes and cheeks. She groaned as she sat up, her head feeling as it held more weight than her neck could support. She stood clumsily and looked around, noticing that she was still alone.

The festival was an event that went on until the moon itself was almost ready for bed. She wondered what time it was and when her parents would be getting home. She hoped not soon for she wasn't ready to face them just yet. Her heart ached just as much as her head.

A loud knock on the door startled her nearly out of her bones. Expecting her parents on the other side, she slowly walked to the door, taking a deep breath in before she opened it. Her wide blue eyes narrowed as she looked into the smiling face of Clopin.

"Well, well, well-"

"Don't," Safira interrupted him, "Just don't. Not right now."

Clopin took the time to note her features; her puffy, red eyes, the emptiness in those usually sparkling eyes and her black hair a mess. A look on his features crossed that could almost be called... Concern? Safira could've sneered at the very thought.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her voice slightly hoarse, "Shouldn't you at the festival?"

"I got bored," He shrugged casually, peering into the house behind her, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Safira was ready to retort but after she thought about it, she realized she'd rather have Clopin to annoy her than her thoughts to upset her. She nodded heavily and walked inside, allowing him to follow after her. She sauntered over to the items her mother had been rummaging through earlier and began to look through them in an attempt to keep her mind occupied.

"So why didn't you go to the festival?" Clopin asked as he watched her go through her mother's items.

"It's too dangerous to go," She snapped tightly; Clopin didn't miss the hint of bitterness in her tone.

"Ah, yes," He nodded slowly, rubbing his chin in mock thought, "Jugglers, dancers, bells and costumes... I can see where the danger lies."

When he was met with nothing but silence, Clopin sighed. He stared at her back as she continued to search for whatever it was she searched for.

He had been thirteen years old when Safira came to the Court of Miracles and he had grown up like most of the children knowing that behind closed doors and through hushed whispers that Safira wasn't actually a gypsy. It was a well-kept secret, one that the gypsies kept not for the sake of the child or her adoptive parents but for the protection of their underground hideout.

Rubina and Sacha had almost been hung by the gypsies themselves for putting them in the amount of danger and risk of kidnapping not only a French soldier's child but the child of Captain of the Guards under Frollo's army.

She was Selene de Chateaupers, daughter of Captain Frederick and Lady Chandra. For years he had been on the lookout for his long-lost daughter. So much so that every gypsy in question was nearly tortured to death until they provided bits of false information to keep the Court of Miracles safe and Captain Frederick circling a dead end.

The gypsies responsible for kidnapping the French child were not hung by their fellow gypsies simply under the conditions that the child remain in the Court of Miracles forever. Her appearance, even ten years later, would be too risky for she would be a gypsy of unusual appearance and if stories were true, she was a spitting image of her mother. Surely Captain Frederick would recognize his wife mirrored in his daughter were he to see her and in discovering his daughter, he would discover their hideout.

Clopin, like most of the gypsies, did not blame the girl nor did he spite her. He empathized with her. Yes, he picked on her and yes he loved to play tricks on herr but it was nothing more than an act he played. Even now as he looked at her, he could feel his facial muscles relaxing as he gazed at her with pity.

"What's this?" He heard her whisper softly.

"What?" He snapped out of this thoughts, walking to kneel down next to her, "It's a book."

"It's hollow," She clarified, knocking on it before opening and gasping at the sight.

"Whoa," Clopin's eyes widened as silver reflected in their eyes.

"It's a necklace," She breathed out. Clopin, too amazed at even seeing something so expensive up close did not feel the need to remark on her obvious comment.

"Is this what they were going to give me?" She whispered softly, guilt washing over her for a moment when she remembered how disrespectful she had been to her parents.

Clopin, however, could see what Safira was too ignorant to see. There was no way her parents could afford such an expensive piece of jewelry. He could only conclude that they had stolen it. Now to steal food, clothes, and things to help them survive was one thing but something like this? It almost angered him but the smile that spread on Safira's face melted away it away before it could fully form as she handed him the necklace.

"Put it on me," She requested excitedly.

He nodded quietly and watched as she picked up her long hair. He graced the necklace over her pale neck and clasped it, holding back a sigh as he stared hard at her. His mind began to ponder many questions.

Was this their way of keeping her satisfied with staying locked up? Was this why they both worked so hard? They were able to have at least a small hut and the things Safira had such as books and even a few simple toys. Was it to keep her from asking questions? It was one thing to keep Safira safe from the truth but it was another to keep her distracted with material possessions to purposefully keep her ignorant.

"Safira, come with me," He found himself speaking without realizing.

"Where?" She asked without looking at him, still gazing at the silver crescent moon pendant in admiration.

"To the festival."

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Safira had taken some convincing. After seeing what her parents were planning on giving her, her guilt reminded her of her loyalty. The thought of going against her parent's wishes when they had worked so hard to keep her happy made it difficult. Clopin continued to convince her until she finally broke down.

 _What if we get caught_ , she had told him.

 _No one will see us_ , he had assured her.

She had agreed to let him chaperone her but not for long. Even as she walked side-by-side with Clopin, she clutched his hand and trembled with excitement.

They began to make their way out of the Court of Miracles. Safira's entire body trembled as Clopin led her through a catacomb tunnel she had never even seen before. This wasn't the way to the city that she had seen other gypsies taking. He had led her to a completely different direction, bringing a level of skepticism from her.

"How do you know about this place?" She asked softly, her voice echoing quietly in the tunnels as it synchronized with the sound of water dripping and rats squeaking.

"You're not the only one who knows of the hidden tunnels around here," Clopin smirked as he continued to hold her hand comfortingly.

He could hear her sharp, uneven breaths and it made him smile. He couldn't even begin to imagine what she was feeling and indeed he had no idea. When they reached their destination, she froze completely.

Before them was a rusty ladder. She stared at it as if it were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. To the naked eye it was just an old ladder that looked like it could break at any moment but to Safira it symbolized every bit of her deepest desires.

He began to climb the ladder that would lead to a pothole in the city, still grasping her hand until he heard her voice.

"I can't do this, Clopin," She exclaimed suddenly, pulling back from him but he held onto her hand firmly.

"Safira, it's just for a moment," He assured her, "We'll go, see the festival and be back before your parents get home-"

"I'm scared-"

"I know-"

"No you don't!" She began to grow hysterical, "I've... What if..."

She struggled to find the words, tears brimming her eyes as she looked around almost as if she were trying to find a quick escape.

"If what?" He encouraged her gently, still holding tightly in case she decided to bolt.

"What if... What if it's nothing like I thought it would be...?" She whispered softly.

It was then that Clopin truly realized what he had taken for granted all his life. Safira may as well not have been human. She felt nothing; not the breeze in her hair, not the smell of the trees, not the heat of the sun or the cooling of the shade that follows.

She feared the outside as fiercely as she desired it.

Safira felt as if she would heave whatever contents left in her stomach. She continued to stare at the ladder that led to her freedom. She had only known of the outside world from what she heard other people say about it.

"You'll never know until you try," He continued to coax her gently, "If you don't do it now, you never will. This is your _only_ chance, Safira."

She knew he spoke the truth. There was never a time she was as alone as she was right now without one of her parents supervising her. If she didn't take the chance now when they were both gone, she would mostly have to wait another year for the next festival to try again and the very thought scared her more than climbing that ladder did.

"Come on, I'll go first."

She looked into his brown eyes and nodded almost violently. He slowly released her hand and when she didn't immediately run, he knew she would follow. Safira stared at the metal bars that formed the ladder, releasing a shaky breath before gripping it furiously and climbing it with her eyes shut tightly.

Her heart was thumping furiously, so much so that she feared it would burst out of her chest and she would die before she reached the top. Her heartbeat and breathing echoed in her ears like drums. She could hear the sound of metal moving heavily against stone and the night breeze that followed took her breath away but she refused to open her eyes just yet.

She reached the top and could feel the cool night sky, picturing it behind her closed eyes. Clopin's soft laughter woke her when she realized she had stopped at the very top of the ladder.

"Open your eyes."

She did. Slowly. She stared straight up at Clopin who was offering his hand to her. She took it immediately and pulled herself up. She stumbled slightly and fell into his arms, bringing another chuckle out of the amused gypsy man. He helped her stand and watched her intently as her eyes drank in the sight of what the night sky actually looked like.

It was slightly cold but not unbearably so. The gentle breeze felt heavenly against her skin. A noise escaped her throat that sounded like a mixture of a sorrowful cry and joyful laugh as she looked up at the moon for the first time. It wasn't full nor was it crescent as she had seen in her story books but it was beautiful, providing them with light as it rested snuggly in the royal blue blanket that seemed to be adorned with sparkling diamonds.

"Turn around," He suggested with a grin.

She looked at him curiously before turning slowly and gasping at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had heard about it, seen pictures of it but never had she thought she would see the Notre Dame cathedral with her very own eyes.

"It's... It's... How...?" She turned to look at him confusedly, "I thought the entrance led to-"

"Nobody knows of this second entrance into the Court of Miracles," He explained seriously, "It was built long ago, meant to be an easy escape route for those who were forced into sanctuary in the cathedral and needed to escape. But the risk of being discovered was getting too great. My father sealed the entrance... Or so he claimed."

She looked back at the pothole as Clopin sealed it back and noticed it blended almost perfectly to the ground. Had she not known what was underneath it, she never would've guessed something was hidden there. The people of Paris walked over it every day without a care in the world and had no clue a city of people lived underneath.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" He promised her before whisking her away for a night she would never forget.

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Safira had seen things, smelled things, felt things and heard things she never thought she would ever experience. She laughed at the entertainment provided by the gypsies, gasped in awe at the scenery of Paris, tasted fresh bread as she had always dreamed of and it had been magnificent. She pinched herself repeatedly to assure herself this wasn't a dream.

She had the pleasure and blessing of seeing her mother dance on stage while he father played his instruments in his colorful and bell-adorned garb. She was a sight to behold. Safira's eyes softened as she watched her mother twirl and slither her body like a snake as the crowd cheered and threw gold coins onstage. She had seen her mother dance before, Safira herself dancing around her swiftly moving legs as a younger child but never had she seen her look as beautiful as she did now.

By the time Clopin brought her back to the realization that she had to go home, Safira realized she didn't want to go back but she knew she had no choice. The sound of thunder echoed through the night before it began to sprinkle quietly. She had experienced rain for the first time that night as well and she loved it.

Heart still racing with adrenaline, she followed Clopin hand-in-hand as the festivities died out. They made their way towards the entrance from which they came. Walking quietly through the night, Clopin motioned for her to keep silent as he heard the sound of voices around the corner of the cathedral. He bought his arm out to stop her from walking further as he peered over the corner of the cathedral.

"Oh no," He whispered in alarm, "Safira, don't look-"

"What is it?" She frowned deeply and despite his protests, she peered over his arm and around the corner of their hiding spot and gasped.

Her parents were being stopped by soldiers. They were being... arrested? Why?!

"Shh, stay calm," He tried to calm her.

"We have to help them!" She raised her voice, forcing Clopin to bring his hand over her mouth as the soldier's eyes darted to the dark corner where the children hid.

"Shut up!" Clopin whispered harshly in her ear. They stood in silence, watching as the soldiers seem to be interrogating Rubina and Sacha though their wrists were already chained.

Clopin, his hand still over Safira's mouth while his other arm wrapped around her waist, led her slowly and quietly further around the cathedral and closer to the scene. As her back pressed against his stomach, he silently prayed the soldiers would eventually leave so they could jump into the catacombs soon after.

"Do you care to explain what you were doing out so late after the festivities?" One of the soldiers asked coldly.

"We were _in_ the festivities," Rubina's voice could be heard.

"Explain this," The soldier grabbed a pouch hanging from Rubina's dress, jingling it before pouring out gold coins onto the floor.

"That's the money we _earned_ ," She snapped fiercely as she tried to take it back.

"Rubina, please," Sacha tried to calm his wife, his nervousness apparent.

"I'd listen to your husband, gypsy," the second soldier spoke, "But until we can prove that these coins were truly earned and not stolen, you're coming with us."

Safira whimpered under Clopin's hand, forcing him to hold her closer, turning swiftly so that his back faced the soldiers to prevent her from seeing anything. She could still hear everything.

"Why you-" Rubina's voice could be heard, "Unhand me, you brute!"

"Release my wife!" Sacha's voice followed as the sound of metal clashing from the chains they tried to desperately release themselves from.

"You got a little fight in you, don't you?" The first soldier laughed, the sound of a sword unsheathing freezing Safira's blood as she began to fight off Clopin's grip.

"Safira, please," He whispered desperately, knowing what would come next, "Don't look!"

A woman's chilling scream rang through the night, following the agonized cries of a man's that Safira knew all too well. She fought against Clopin's grip, finally biting down hard on his hand. With a low, pained hiss, he released her.

Safira ran from him and stood in plain sight of the soldiers. Her eyes darted to the bodies that lay on the ground. Met with the soulless eyes of her parents and the expressionless faces, she watched the ground beneath them pool with their innocent blood.

"No..." Safira whispered brokenly before she locked eyes with the soldier whose blade was stained with the blood of her parents.

Sorrow had no room in her heart in that moment. A dark energy pulsated around Safira as fury and grief overwhelmed her.

With a fierce noise that could only be described as a growl, Safira began to run towards the soldier. She was deaf to the sound of Clopin's voice begging her to stop, deaf to the sound of another sword unsheathing, numb to the pain that followed she threw her entire weight on one of the soldiers, knocking him onto his back. He was visibly stunned and dropped his sword upon being attacked.

She took advantage of having caught him by surprise. With a shrill cry, she removed his protective metal helmet before smashing it violently onto his head. Once. Twice. Three times. She received an oddly satisfying cry of pain from the man beneath her before the other soldier sprang into action.

"You little witch!" The soldier growled furiously as he watched his partner groan in agony at the fierce blows he received to his head, blood trickling down his face.

His sword slashed towards the girl but she was lighter on her feet. Ducking, she narrowly missed the edge of the blade and rolled off the wounded soldier. She caught sight of the sword he had dropped and reached for it. Knowing she stood no chance against a skilled swordsman, she aimed for the only area he had unguarded; his neck.

With a cry of anguished grief, she raised the sword over her head and slashed at the soldier's neck clumsily before he could regain his composure. The sound that followed was that of the soldier's staggering as he dropped his sword, bringing his hands to his neck. He gasped, gurgled and fell to the ground, blood gushing from his wound.

Safira slowly approached the soldier whose throat she had slashed, still gripping the sword. She reached down and removed his helmet with her free hand to look into his eyes. He was still alive but just barely. The soldier stared back, unable to speak but fear reflected in his eyes. He reached for her ankle in almost a desperate attempt to fight for his life. The few appearances of lightning allowed him to look into the face of what seemed to be a blue-eyed devil child who had been sent by the Grim Reaper.

She watched his wound continue to bleed, kicking his hand off of her ankle as it lay limply on the ground. She turned her cold stare to the soldier whose head she nearly bashed open with his own helmet and noticed the pool of blood surrounding his head; he wasn't moving nor was his chest rising. He was dead.

Safira turned to the lifeless forms of her parents, her blank stare breaking into that of anguish. The blood that drenched her clothes and hands being washed away by God's sorrowful tears as the rain continued to pour down. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a figure watching her.

She looked up to see Clopin standing in the moonlight, staring at her in what could only be horror. He was almost afraid in that moment, the way she stared at him with eyes that he no longer recognized. She stood slumped, probably exhausted, her now wet hair falling into her face. She was a terrifying sight to behold that could only be described as demonic. He was expecting her to fall to the ground in tears at any moment or to run to him in realization of what she had just done.

Instead, she turned her back to him and began to walk away.

"Safira," He called out shakily, succeeding in only having her pause to glance over her shoulder.

The cold glare in her blue eyes stopped him from going after her. She only looked at him briefly before continuing on her way, dragging the sword with her. He watched her form disappear into the moonlight, his body trembling as he stared at four dead bodies gathered behind the walls of Notre Dame; the entrance of the catacombs blocked by Safira's mother.

Clopin returned to the Court of Miracles through its only known entrance and never went through the second entrance again.

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 **Author's Note:**

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

This was more of a background chapter on Selene de Chateaupers/Safira but there will be much, MUCH more. This will be a Quasimodo x OC story but it is very plot-based so if you're in for an interesting take on the movie with character development and a slow-paced romance, you're in for a treat.

This is a story I've been working on-and-off on for years. It's fully written and had been re-read and edited more times than I can count. I am super excited to finally get to share this with my fellow HBONT lovers!

I will be updating this story weekly (every Sunday) so no future hiatus' or weeks/months without updates. As my reader's your enjoyment is my priority so please let me know if you see anything that needs clarity and/or improvement through feedback.

~ Laruto


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."

 _Ephesians 2:10_

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To state the military base was rowdy was an understatement. Day and night, it seemed there was noise of some sort; whether there were barking orders, soldiers patrolling or men training, there was never a moment of silence. Except for one occasion.

Patrolling through the camp was "The Black Soldier", a nickname received from the armor he constantly wore; completely clothed in sinfully black armor, chain and even his clothing underneath his armor. But that alone wasn't what made him stand out as much as the rest of the soldiers. It was a combination of his cold, tough exterior, extreme training methods that provided the best soldiers France had ever seen and the fact that no one had ever fully seen his face before.

Along with armor that he was never seen outside of, his face remained concealed and voice was always muffled by a black scarf that would only allow him sight. Some found the scarf intimidating, others found what the scarf lacked to cover even more intimidating which were the cold, soulless eyes that seemed to penetrate through your very soul.

Only when The Black Soldier was around did everyone stop speaking, were orders being barked and not spoken and training was done without grunts or noises of complaint or weakness. But today was different. They had not seen him around this morning, resulting in a loud, relaxed environment.

"I see the captain's not around," One of the soldier's commented casually and lowly, peering over his shoulder as if he were afraid he'd appear suddenly.

"Doesn't look like it," The other commented back with equal unease, "Have you seen that scarf he wears?"

With a nod, the other lowered his voice to a whisper, "Why do you think he wears it? What's he got hiding under there?"

"I've only ever heard stories, who knows if they're true?" The other shrugged, "I hear he was burned and hides his scars with the scarf."

"I heard he's made so many enemies that he refuses to show his face in fear that he'll be recognized by spies and killed."

The rumors went on and on and they always made it back to the captain. He never bothered to correct them mostly because no one had the courage to ask him personally. He was grateful for that. The less people knew about him, the better.

Right now, he could hear the loudness in the camp through the tent he currently stood in. Standing before General Jean Levesque, a man highly respected but even less feared than The Black Soldier, his focus was on the General and not on his slacking soldiers. Captain Sacha Charbonneau paid close attention as Jean began to speak.

"Captain," General Jean nodded, receiving a nod in return, "I've called you in on regards to your relocation."

"Relocation?" Sacha questioned with what sounded like mere curiosity.

"Yes," Jean handed him the scroll, standing back and studying the other's eyes as Sacha read it.

"Judge Claude Frollo is summoning me," He stated simply as he looked up at the general.

"And knowing we are in the middle of a war, I would assume it's of utmost importance for the justice minister to summon my best soldier during such desperate times," General Jean huffed almost impatiently as if the summons were a huge inconvenience to him and surely it was for General Jean needed Sacha more than ever with the new recruits they received.

Sacha didn't respond to the general's statements and after a moment of silence, the general sighed heavily.

"Off you go, Captain," He forced a tight smile, "The city of Paris awaits."

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Safira sat on her horse with almost no feeling left in her bones.

 _The city of Paris awaits._

The general's voice echoed through her head the entire ride. As she trotted closer and closer to the city, she hadn't realized her horse was doing most of the guiding until she heard the sounds of the city for the first time in ten years. Her cold blue eyes remained forward, ignoring the darting eyes and whispers from the civilians. Though she was completely cloaked in black, she felt as if she were riding stark naked in plain view for everyone to see. She felt uneasy.

She had not stepped foot in Paris since -

She closed her eyes briefly in attempt to forget the memory she had long since blocked from her mind but failed. Coming back to this damned city also came back the memories she thought she had long slain and buried along with her former identity.

The night her parents died was the night she died and was reborn into Sacha Charbonneau. Taking her father's name, she transformed herself into a man. She lived her life as a peasant boy, practicing with the sword she had taken with her. Along with learning to properly handle a sword, she had taken it upon herself to speak, act, walk and think like a male. It served her greatly when she was finally of age to join the army. When she joined, she found a purpose in her life once more.

She slit countless throats and shed more blood than any tears one could weep in a lifetime. With her ability to disguise herself, building a deadly reputation while instilling fear into her fellow soldiers, she was able to become what no woman could ever dream of becoming; the most feared warrior in all of France.

 **Jingle. Jingle.**

Her eyes darted towards the sound of bells. Her eyes widened at the sight, stopping her horse harshly in his steps.

 _Mother...?_

Blinking and staring fiercely at the raven-haired beauty dancing several feet away from her. Her heart wrenched as images flashed clearly of her mother dancing before her vision finally cleared and she stared only at the beautiful girl before her and her dancing goat. Staring at her intensely, they finally locked eyes. The gypsy's smile flickered for only a moment before she tapped her tambourine flirtatiously in Safira's direction before continuing her dance.

The show wouldn't last for long before Safira heard a sharp whistle and the girl abruptly began to stop dancing. Her goat released a cry, the gypsy man playing the instrument disappearing almost instantly.

Safira frowned underneath her scarf, watching the gypsy's attempt to run only to have her spill the few coins she had gathered and run back to pick them up quickly. Only after a few seconds did she see what she and her fellow gypsy friend were running from: Soldiers. Unimpressive-looking soldiers but soldiers nonetheless.

Images of her mother, harassed by soldiers, replaced the scene before her. It blocked her vision of Esmeralda and clouded her judgment. She was ready to step in but before she could even act, the girl had somehow found her way out of their grasp and was running away. Safira could see their intent on running after her and guided her horse to block the path between the soldiers and the gypsy.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?!" One of the soldiers exclaimed furiously up at Sacha but immediately swallowed his words after one glance at the fierce-looking soldier.

"Do either of you two _gentlemen_... know where I can find The Palace of Justice?" Sacha questioned lowly behind her scarf, raising an eyebrow.

Still on her horse, her sword was in clear view of the soldiers and judging by the look on their faces they knew full well who she was.

"Oh, C-C-C-Captain Sacha!" One of the men stuttered but both saluted her, "At your service, sir! This way!"

With their backs turned, Safira turned to look over her shoulder and locked gazes with a pair of emerald eyes in the shadows. Esmeralda froze once those intense eyes locked with hers, feeling a chill tingle down her spine as she waited for either his sword to become unsheathed and pointed at her or a shout for her arrest. Instead, Safira guided her horse after the soldiers who made sure the citizens of Paris cleared the way for their captain.

Esmeralda breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the wall she hid behind. Having heard the soldier's name, she would forever remember it.

 _Captain Sacha..._

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Sacha had been escorted to the Palace of Justice, the city clearing a path for her. She was used to the stares that came her way and the murmurs that followed and was able to disregard them. The only thing on her mind at that point was greeting the very man whose soldiers were responsible for the death of her parents.

How could she predict how she would react to the trauma that occurred ten years ago? She hoped her training as a soldier would allow her to exercise her discipline and willpower. She prayed to God that she had the self-control to keep her temper and composure in check.

She tied her horse on the steps of the palace and adjusted her scarf and helmet before entering and heading straight to the dungeons where she was instructed Judge Frollo would be.

The sounds of whips greeted her as well as Frollo's voice, instructing the whipper on proper whipping techniques. It wasn't long before her presence was noticed.

"Ah," Frollo's deep voice echoed through the halls of the Palace of Justice, "If it isn't the famous Captain Sacha home from the wars."

"Reporting for duty as ordered, sir," Safira stood proudly, her eyes remaining forward as the prime minister seemed to be circling her.

"Yes," He spoke almost dismissively, "Your service record proceeds you, Sacha, I expect nothing but the best coming from a man of your caliber."

"And you shall have it, sir, I guarantee it," Safira responded robotically.

"Yes," the word was eerily elongated, "Well, come. Walk with me, Captain."

As they walked up the palace stairs and onto the balcony, Frollo wasted no time in getting to the point as the city of Paris came into view beneath them.

"Look at the city, Captain," Frollo motioned towards the city, "Paris is in its darkest hour as we speak... It will take a firm hand such as yours to prevent the weak-minded from being so easily _misled_."

"By whom, sir?" She questioned curiously, taking the judge's cold, sharp features.

"Look at the them, captain; The gypsies," He clarified, "They live outside the normal order, Captain, their heathen ways inflame the people's lowest instincts and they must... be... _stopped_."

At Safira's silence, Frollo assumed he knew what she was thinking but he had no idea. She grit her teeth at his words, fury boiling her blood and she thanked God for the scarf that hid half of her face for her lips were twisted in absolute revulsion at his words.

"I know what you're thinking," He spoke with a chuckle but he waved his finger, "But I tell you, Captain, what you have not seen is not real war. The real war is what you see before you."

He placed a hand on her tense shoulder and pointed at the streets. She forced herself to look at the people of Paris and caught of the dancing gypsy once more as well as other gypsies who sold their talents in exchange for small change.

"For twenty years, I have been _taking care_ of the gypsies," He informed her further, elaborating by taking his fingers along the stone balcony and smashing an ant with each finger as he spoke, " _One_ by _one_... And yet for all my success, they've thrived."

He lifted a loose block of stone to reveal a nest of ants underneath it. Safira watched him carefully, absorbing his words like a cloth dunked in water.

"I believe they've built a safe haven within the walls of this very city... A nest, if you will," He clarified, "They call it the Court of Miracles."

Keeping the tremor out of her voice, she asked the question she already knew the answer to, "What are we going to do about it, sir?"

Frollo's response was a cruel smirk and to smash the nest of ants with the stone block.

"That's quite a portrait you paint, sir," Safira raised an eyebrow, bringing an amused chuckle from the judge.

"I _trust_ you, Captain," Frollo offered what was possibly the warmest smirk she had seen him offer yet it still held no sincerity whatsoever.

No further word was spoken about the gypsy plan. Judge Frollo had been summoned for duty and bid Safira good bye and instructed her to look after the city, leaving her at the balcony to ponder.

Bringing her hand to her neck subconsciously, she couldn't grip the necklace she still wore but she could feel it against her flesh. She looked straight towards the cathedral, catching a perfect view from the Palace of Justice.

It was then she knew why she was summoned here. She wasn't brought here through Frollo's order. No. It was a much higher order. One that didn't answer to French law or even human law.

For years she had blamed herself for her parent's death and had prayed for a chance to make up for what she caused. And here it was. She was here to protect the gypsies of Paris, to do what she had failed to do ten years ago. God was giving her this chance.

Catching sight of a swirl of green, white and purple, she stared down at the beautiful gypsy girl whose goat danced around her feet - a vision of her mother dancing as two-year-old Safira walked through swiftly moving feet crossed her mind before she left the balcony.

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 _3 Months Later_

Word had spread like wildfire a month after The Black Soldier's arrival to Paris. The capture and execution of gypsies had decreased, numbers of gypsies had flourished now more than ever and Frollo was absolutely confounded.

He had seen for himself the brutal treatment of gypsies by Sacha's hands, the bloodshed and the examples he made of them publically. Though he – nor anyone else – had ever physically seen a gypsy being slain by Sacha's hands, he had given them their word and bloodied sword as proof that they had been dealt with. So why were there now more gypsies than ever and becoming braver and braver in their attempts to make themselves part of the norm of French society?

As he sat by the fireplace, Frollo stared at the table next to him that contain a letter, ink and a feather waiting for him to finish his next summons. He wasn't sure what was going on but the trust he had in Sacha was beginning to deteriorate.

Yes, he had seen blood but he had not seen physical bodies in the aftermath nor did he bear witness to any brutal treatment by Sacha's hand. No gypsies were publically hanged nor were they ever imprisoned. They were killed by the very hands of Captain Sacha who claimed to have disposed of the bodies properly.

Frollo's patience was wearing thin and his suspicions were burning as brightly as the fireplace that kept him reached over to the feather pen, inked it lightly and finished scrawling the name of the person he was summoning on urgent matter.

 _Phoebus de Chateaupers_

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During her night patrol, Safira hoped the gypsies would make themselves scarce. When she had made it her mission to protect the gypsies of Paris, she had not realized how truly exhausting it would be. The stress of keeping up this charade of being a cruel, gypsy-hating soldier made it difficult to keep them safe but she managed.

There had not been one gypsy execution since she had been brought to be Captain of the Guards; at least not that anyone knew about.

Taking a gypsy to a secluded area she would proceed to give them their "punishment" and all the while, she would place a deep enough cut on their arms and sometimes a bit of her own, smearing it over the walls and floors of the streets for the benefit of others, urging the gypsy to scream in agony for the hearing benefit of those around them. Once they had made a convincing performance, Safira would allow them to escape and warn them to make themselves scarce.

But there was only so much blood she could shed before someone demanded a body and that someone was Frollo. That man was demented and she was only surprised he had not already requested one. She could feel Frollo's trust in her disintegrating and she needed that trust to keep her position or otherwise be found out and put to death. Or worse; be replaced by someone who would actually harm gypsies.

With stressful thoughts in her head, she sat down by the city's fountain, sighing heavily as she rubbed her eyes, allowing her horse some rest.

"Feeling a little stressed, Captain?" A soft voice brought her eyes up.

Safira stood immediately, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she looked into familiar green eyes.

"Take it easy, it's just me," Esmeralda offered a smile.

"You shouldn't be out here, Green Eyes," Safira glowered at her, her hand still on the hilt of her sword.

Esmeralda stared at Safira's hand as it gripped her sword expectantly, a smile tugging at her lips, "Green Eyes?"

"What do you expect me to call you? I don't know your name."

"Do you give each gypsy a nickname or am I just special?" The girl asked flirtatiously.

Safira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This particular gypsy did tug at her heart strings as she was a constant reminder of her mother but she would never admit it out loud.

"You're special alright," She spoke sarcastically, "But I have nicknames for all of you."

"Such as?" Esmeralda began to walk a bit closer, noting that Safira had not released her sword.

"Father Time, Scarf Dancer, One Eye, Peg Leg," She named a couple, "It goes on..."

Esmeralda bit her lower lip to keep from laughing, inching closer until she was only arm's length away. She lowered her gaze for a moment before her face suddenly took on a more serious expression.

"Who are you?" She asked softly.

"You know who I am," Safira responded, her eyes locked with Esmeralda's.

"Who are you _really_?" She pushed despite the chills brought to her spine at the hollowness of those breathtaking eyes.

At this question, Safira lifted her sword and pressed the tip of the blade to Esmeralda's throat, forcing the gypsy to uncross her arms and bring them to her sides. She continued to stare into those icy blue eyes and saw absolutely no emotion; for a moment she wasn't sure if she was going to be harmed.

"You ask too many questions," Safira finally spoke before bringing her sword back to her sheath sharply, "Go home."

Esmeralda decided to press no further. Turning her back, she took a couple of steps before she looked over her shoulder.

"Esmeralda."

Safira stared at her for a moment before realizing the girl was giving her name. She watched her retreating form as she disappeared into the shadows, sighing heavily.

How had she gone from being the most terrifying soldier at a military camp to having to threaten a weaponless girl into going home without so much as a tear shed?

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Several weeks had passed since the incident involving Esmeralda. Safira was now being called into the Palace of Justice to speak to Judge Frollo. She felt her heart racing furiously, her dread of his demanding evidence of dead gypsies fueling her nerves. Walking into the minister's office, she was taken aback to see he was not alone.

Her eyes locked with friendly eyes that radiated warmth despite his solemn expression. The blonde man gave her a curt nod to which she returned as one soldier to another but it was Frollo's voice that drew her eyes to the judge.

"Sacha, so good of you to join us," He spoke with a dark cheer underlying his tone, "This is Captain Phoebus de Chteaupers, I have summoned him to be your co-captain."

"Co-captain?" Safira questioned, hiding her outrage well.

"I've explained our gypsy problem with Captain Phoebus and he seems to agree that it's a project that requires the aid of two captains. You seem very overwhelmed-"

"With all due respect, sir," Safira bit out, finally slipping in showing her emotion, "I am perfectly capable of handling this gypsy problem _alone_."

"It has been almost three months, Captain," Frollo continued to speak calmly, "And I have yet to find what I am looking for and gypsies seem to be blossoming from the ground like flowers during springtime. Phoebus will be captain during the day and you may patrol the streets at night. Those are my orders."

His tone challenged her. Safira knew she couldn't fight back without risking losing her position as captain entirely. Losing her position meant she lost the ability to protect the gypsies.

"Yes, sir," She nodded dejectedly.

"Excellent," Frollo offered a sickening smile, "Why don't you show Phoebus around Paris, it's been quite a while since he's been around. I'm sure he could use a reminder of the city and the popular areas where the gypsies like to gather."

Safira nodded once more, turning her back to both men with Phoebus following closely behind. They walked in complete silence until they finally left the palace. Phoebus immediately began to speak once they set foot outside.

"Wow, can you believe we were summoned away for _this_?" Phoebus asked in disbelief as soon as they walked down the steps.

Safira glanced at him through the corner of her eyes. She didn't know who this was man - yes, she knew he was Captain Phoebus de Cheteaupers but she didn't know if he was an ally or an enemy just yet. Right now, she decided it was best to keep the charade of gypsy-hating, Frollo-worshipping captain.

"It's a good cause," She responded, bringing a raised eyebrow from the other captain.

"You think catching fortune tellers and palm readers is more important than fighting in a war?"

"I think what the city of Paris needs most right now is a protector," She answered cryptically, "And I plan on doing it _alone_. Get in my way, pretty boy, and I don't mind shooting you with my own arrow and making it look like an accident."

Phoebus watched the other captain hop on his horse and ride off furiously, his eyes wide with confusion. He wasn't sure what he had gotten dragged into but it didn't look like he would be working with anyone sane.

With a shrug, he hopped onto his own horse and proceeded to patrol the city.

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Phoebus had spent the entire day familiarizing himself with the city and the citizens of Paris than on the lookout for gypsies. He hadn't seen many which contradicted Frollo's earlier statement about gypsies popping out of the ground. But then, Phoebus was beginning to think the man was crazier than he was harmful. It wasn't until the sun had fully set that Phoebus began to make his way to the temporary housing provided to him.

With his horse walking by his side, Phoebus could hear voices and peered curiously in the direction to see the very same soldier who had threatened him that day speaking to a woman. He rose an eyebrow at the sight, bringing him and his horse quietly into the shadows as he recognized the dancing gypsy that had caught his eye earlier that day.

Hoping to hear what they were saying, he watched intently but managed to catch nothing. Only their voices and tones.

"Hmm..." He rubbed his chin as he noted the interaction.

The beautiful gypsy's body language was flirtatious. She was obviously quite taken with Sascha. The soldier didn't seem to mind it and instead of harassing her as he had seen other soldiers do, he stood and conversed with her.

 _Could it be...?_

He continued to watch unbeknownst to the pair.

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"I thought I've told you not to come out at night, Green Eyes," Safira scolded the girl gently.

"I wanted to see you," Esmeralda's honesty rendered Safira speechless every time.

It had become a habit for Esmeralda to seek Safira and though Safira hated to admit it, she felt a sense of peace around the gypsy. It alarmed Safira just how okay she was being around Esmeralda. She knew it was only a matter of time before they were caught speaking yet she allowed her to stay for a while longer each time she visited.

"I hear there's a new captain in town," Esmeralda continued, a soft frown gracing her beautiful features, "Should we be worried?"

" _You_ shouldn't worry about anything," Safira guaranteed her but Esmeralda only lowered her gaze, unsure if she should feel assured or if she was just being told what the other thought she wanted to hear.

 _It's me that should be worried about him interfering._

"With this new captain around, however," Safira continued, bringing Esmeralda's eyes to her, "You walking up to me like this as if you're my friend isn't going to look well if we're caught, is it, Green Eyes?"

Esmeralda pursed her lips, her cheeks scalding. Yes, she knew what she was doing was irresponsible but she couldn't help herself. She was drawn to this captain and wanted to know more about him. It was as if he had just fallen out of the sky like a savior for her people. He was the answer to their prayers; it was almost too good to be true that she firmly believed he had simply been an angel from Heaven sent to protect them. An angel garbed in black.

"I never said thank you," Esmeralda spoke so softly it was almost a whisper as she stared at the profile of the soldier who was readying his horse for patrol.

"You staying out of trouble is thanks enough-" Safira turned to face Esmeralda when she felt the girl throw herself at her, feeling an arm wrap around her neck. Esmeralda used her other hand to reach for her face and yanked down her scarf, pressing her lips against Safira's.

Stiffening at the suddenness of Esmeralda's actions, Safira stood as lifeless and as stiff as the very gargoyles that guarded Notre Dame Cathedral. The kiss didn't last long and when Esmeralda broke it, she darted off into the night without looking back.

Safira watched her run as she fixed her scarf hurriedly, staring at the retreating girl in disbelief. Her first kiss… and it had been from another woman.

Safira shook her head as she hopped up on her horse.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or disgusted," She grumbled down at her horse who responded with a soft grunt.

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 _Palace of Justice_

"Are you sure about what you saw?"

A lanky soldier stood before the judge, determination in his brown eyes. He had been following Sacha for days, beginning to think for a moment that Frollo had been paranoid in offering him extra pay for following The Black Soldier, until he saw what he saw tonight.

"Yes sir," The soldier confirmed, "He was with a gypsy woman. They appear to be lovers."

"I see," Frollo spoke with a calmness that made the deliverer of the bad news wary.

The wheels in Frollo's head turned sharply and swiftly. If he wanted to catch the traitor red-handed, he would have to witness such actions himself.

And he intended to.

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 **Author's Note:**

I really hope the Sacha/Safira thing doesn't become too confusing. I will always write from a "her/Safira" POV but when people are addressing Safira, they will address her as "him/Sacha."

My inspiration for Safira's alter ego came from Disney's Mulan and Legend of Zelda's Sheik. I hope you enjoy her character as much as I've enjoyed developing it.

~ Laruto


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord."_

 _Psalm 27:14_

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The following morning, Phoebus did not patrol the city as he had originally planned. After he witnessed Sacha and the gypsy's intimate encounter, he had to find the captain and have a couple of questions answered. Just as Frollo began to place all the pieces to a puzzle, Phoebus was beginning to suspect he knew the real reason why he was here and suspected Sacha was in danger.

Making his way through the soldier's housing, he was able to find the room that belonged to the blue-eyed captain, knocking on the door loudly. He could hear rustling from the other side of the door, frowning as he pressed his ear to the door.

"Hello?" Phoebus called out, "Sacha?"

"Hold on!" The other captain barked almost viciously, the sound of a body falling to the ground following before more rustling and rapid movement could be heard.

Phoebus pulled his ear from the door when he heard the knob turning, faced with a fully cloaked and extremely irate-looking captain.

" _What_ is it, _Captain_?" Safira spat fiercely, having been roused from sleep and forced to quickly don on her disguise. Her heart was pounding from the adrenaline, having had no time to even rub the sleep from her eyes.

"We need to talk," Phoebus insisted darkly, his expression startling her.

"Whatever it is, it can be discussed at a later time," Safira spoke heatedly, ready to close the door in his face but Phoebus placed his foot against it, almost kicking it open.

Phoebus glanced over both shoulders quickly as if to ensure no one was listening before turning his attention back to Safira.

"It's about the gypsy girl," Phoebus brought his voice to a low whisper.

That had been enough to catch Safira's attention. She stopped for a moment, her eyes widening very slightly before regaining her composure. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about-" She denied quickly, avoiding eye contact.

"I saw you," Phoebus's whisper became harsh, forcing the other to meet his gaze, "I saw you last night and unless you want to be the next person in Frollo's dungeon-"

"Is that a threat, Captain?" Sacha shoved the door wide open so harshly, it hit the wall behind it.

She took a step forward, challenging Phoebus. The other captain actually took a step back at the sudden fire that flamed in the other's eyes.

"No," Phoebus assured her, holding his hands up to calm the now infuriated man, "Listen, I'm not here to turn you in. I'm here to help you."

Safira remained silent, staring into the eyes of the man before her. His eyes, so disgustingly honest and genuine... He truly meant no harm and she could see it yet she wasn't sure why that only angered her further. She stared at him intensely before finally nodding towards her room.

"Come in," She relented, walking back inside, leaving the door open for the captain who immediately walked in and closed the door behind them.

"How long has Frollo had you spying on me," Safira questioned immediately, standing by the window and staring outside, paranoid.

"I wasn't hired to spy on you," Phoebus assured her, "I was heading back to my quarters when I just so happened to see that little _display_. You didn't exactly choose the most private area, Captain."

"That _girl_ ," Safira hissed with such venom, it alarmed Phoebus, "I told her to stay away from me."

"What?" Phoebus frowned curiously, "You mean... you're not lovers?"

A short bark of humorless laughter escaped Safira's lips, answering Phoebus' question before the other could elaborate.

"I stopped a couple of soldiers from harassing her coming into the city and since then she won't leave me alone," Safira explained, gripping the window's edge fiercely as she hunched over it, staring out of it as if searching for the very girl she spoke of, "She seems to have become infatuated with me."

"I see," Phoebus pondered this for a while, "She's not the only gypsy you've been helping, is she?"

At the other's silence, Phoebus released a breath of understanding only confirming what he had been thinking of all night. He hadn't been summoned because Frollo needed two captains; he had been summoned because he was becoming a replacement.

"Listen, I don't know what's going on-" Phoebus began slowly but the other captain whirled suddenly, eyes as cold as ice as she spoke.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Safira spoke through gritted teeth, "I refuse to shed blood of the innocent under Frollo's command but being captain allows me to protect them! I was trained to protect my country, not to murder the innocent!"

Phoebus stared hard at the shorter soldier, his own heart pounding at the others words. The emotion and determination within those words were fierce. It seemed Sacha was as insane as Phoebus thought him to be.

"I'll do what I can to help you," The blonde finally responded gently after a moment of silence.

"And why would I trust _you_?" Safira scoffed bitterly.

"Because I came to you... Not Frollo."

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When night patrol came, Safira had not been able to shake off what had happened that morning. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep after Phoebus' visit, her anxiety keeping her awake. She only hoped Esmeralda wasn't foolish enough to visit her tonight or ever again for matter.

Passing through the city's plaza on her horse, she caught sight of the white horse that could only belong to the golden-haired captain who left her room this morning. Hoping that he wouldn't notice her was too much to ask for and instead, he seemed to be trotting his horse straight to her.

"Good evening, Sacha," Phoebus offered a warm smile that matched the kindness in his eyes.

She studied his face for a moment, never truly taking the time to realize how handsome he really was. Especially when he smiled as he did now.

"Evening, Captain," She returned shortly, avoiding his gaze.

"I trust you slept well?" He continued to converse much to Safira's frustration.

"Indeed," Safira bit out sarcastically though Phoebus seem unfazed, only flashing a wide grin in response.

"Nothing exciting to report today," He informed her, "I hope your night is as uneventful as my day was."

"I truly hope so as well," She sighed, bringing a chuckle out of the other man.

Safira was annoyed that she wasn't annoyed at the sound of Phoebus' laughter; it was as genuine as the man himself and irritatingly contagious.

"So can I ask you a question?" Phoebus questioned as they both began to trot their horses slowly through the city.

"Sure, why not?" Safira answered disinterestedly.

"Why do you wear that thing? Around your face?" He asked bluntly, catching Safira by surprise.

She cast a quick sideways glance at him before bringing her eyes back forward.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

"Maybe," Phoebus admitted quietly, "But I like to hear from the source myself before I believe something."

"Whatever you heard, it's true," Safira responded, providing nods of hello to the passing citizens of Paris.

"What if I heard several different stories?"

"They're all true in their own way," Safira responded cryptically.

To her surprise, Phoebus only grinned with a shake of his head. She was clearly amusing to the other man, a trait that she was not normally used to being to other people. She found it unusual but not entirely unpleasant.

"Have you heard anything?" She finally asked, succeeding in sounding impartial.

Phoebus offered a gentle smile, knowing that it had probably been on the others mind all day and no doubt the reason behind those bloodshot eyes.

"No, not yet anyway," Phoebus answered truthfully, "You'll be the first to know if I hear or see anything suspicious."

Safira nodded slowly before she turned her head to look at him, asking the question that had been nagging at her all day.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Maybe I believe in the same cause you do."

The simple answer was more than enough for Safira. It was comforting, satisfying and she hoped to God it was true. They trotted in silence for a moment, Phoebus was just about ready to bid her good night when they heard the sound of other horses behind them. Pulling their horses around, they faced none other than Claude Frollo and his soldiers approaching them. Safira stiffened immediately as she caught sight of what they brought with them.

A chained gypsy child. The sight drew the eyes of the townsfolk who stopped in their tracks to stare. Safira noted how Frollo's expression was that if icy disapproval.

"Captain Sacha, Captain Phoebus," Frollo's voice was terse, "Were you both not responsible for patrolling the streets?"

"Yes, sir," they responded in unison, each eyeing the child uneasily before returning their gaze to Frollo.

"Then explain to me why I found this gypsy boy stealing in the market place with neither of you in sight?"

They did not respond immediately. Eventually, Safira cleared her throat, jumping off her horse and approaching Frollo. She stood before him and the boy, looking up at the judge.

"Forgive me, sir, I'll take care of the boy."

"Excellent idea, Captain," Frollo suddenly smiled coldly, "Nothing like a good example to set for the people of Paris. Go ahead. Show us, Captain, how you deal with these gypsy folks."

Frollo motioned for the guards to unchain the boy who had been warned prior that if he ran, he would be shot immediately. Frollo was staring down at Safira with a smirk that was both cold and smug.

Safira and Phoebus both knew in that moment that Frollo knew. He knew everything and he was using this child to exploit Safira's lack of loyalty publically before the people of Paris.

Safira drew her sword slowly, staring at the boy without so much as a blink. The child looked positively terrified and starved. He couldn't have been any older than six years old. He was pale from fright and trembling, silent tears running down his cheeks. The bastard Frollo had not only chosen a gypsy but the most innocent form of a human being that one could be presented. He was true evil in it's physical form.

"I'm waiting, Captain," Frollo's voice took a deep and menacing tone. The people of Paris held their breath in horror at the sight before them. Hushed whispers and murmurs reached Safira's ears.

 _This is it_ , Safira thought to herself, _A sacrifice must be made_.

And indeed a sacrifice was made that night.

Bringing her sword up, she stared down at the frightened child. With a loud shout, she sliced her sword downward, the boy bringing his hands up in defense. With the sword only inches apart from him, she redirected towards the ground loudly. Frollo's horse lost it. The noise and sudden action startled the animal into bucking the judge off his seat which sent the other horses into a frenzy. Using the moment of distraction she sheathed her sword immediately before grabbing the child, bringing his legs around her waist and began to run.

"Stop him!" Frollo shouted from the ground as his horse had run off the opposite direction.

God had granted Safira a head start as the soldiers struggled to calm their horses. Phoebus wasted no time and began to chase after her. When they had regained control of their horses, the soldiers behind him began to follow furiously. Phoebus cursed under his breath.

 _You softie._

Taking a sharp turn, Safira ran into an alley, holding onto the child who was now sobbing furiously as he watched the soldiers running behind them over Safira's shoulder. She panted as she continued to jump over fences and turn into alleys. They couldn't possibly catch up unless the soldiers hopped off and ran themselves... or at least she hoped.

For a moment, she thought she had lost them until she felt a white-sharp pain exploding on her shoulder. She gasped out, the scream of the boy in her arms deafening her as he narrowly dodged the arrow himself, shifting himself to her other shoulder. She stumbled for a moment, falling to one knee but pushing herself back up shakily to continue running.

"Hold your arrows!" she could hear Phoebus bark viciously.

She continued to run despite the terrible pain, her vision beginning to blur. With the short amount of time she knew she had left before her body gave out, she ran to the only place she knew she would bring safety to the child.

As if on cue, the bells of the cathedral's evening mass began to ring almost as if they called out to her, sensing her blindness and providing sound to guide her. She followed the cries of the bells, her mouth dry and her body aching as the pain radiated on her shoulder. She couldn't hear the soldiers but then again, she couldn't hear much of anything except the bells, the boy's crying and her own heavy breathing.

Running to the south side of the cathedral, she stopped to drop the boy to the floor and used the remainder of her strength to open the entrance to the Court of Miracles that only she and one other gypsy knew about. She grunted as she slid her fingernails underneath the disguised cylinder, sliding it off the ground to reveal a tunnel.

"G-Go!" She instructed him weakly.

Without hesitation, the boy began to climb down the ladder. She waited until she could no longer see him before she pulled the lid back onto the pothole. Her blurry vision deteriorated into darkness as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her body finally gave out beneath her as she crumbled onto the ground and into unconsciousness, completely oblivious to the pair of turquoise eyes that stared at her from above the ground.

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"Oh no..." The hunchback whispered as he watched the soldier drop to the floor like a rag doll, motionless.

He had been sitting outside the cathedral balcony when he had heard the sound of people shouting, a child's screams and horses racing. He watched in fascination from the south side of the cathedral, a soldier running with what looked like a dark-skinned child in his arms. He watched as the soldier was pursed, amazed at the speed at which he was able to run.

He could only watch in shock as the soldier opened a lid that seemed to blend into the ground and instructed the child to go inside who had obeyed without any reluctance. It seemed as if lifting the heavy lid and putting it back was the last thing the soldier had been able to do. Now he was nothing but a limp form, only a few feet from the cathedral, only a few feet from sanctuary... Quasimodo looked up to see the soldier's headed his way. They were close and would no doubt find him soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" Quasimodo spoke to himself, running his hands through his auburn hair, biting his lip hard as he stared down the man who had risked his life to save the life of a gypsy child.

Quasimodo's body began to respond before he had even made up his mind. He began to climb down the cathedral swiftly, jumping from statue to statue and gripping ledge after ledge until he finally set foot on the ground. Fueled by adrenaline, Quasimodo hadn't even realized that this was the first time he had stepped out of the church. He scanned the area and found what he was looking for.

He rushed to the soldier and grabbed him roughly, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With the sound of horses close by, Quasimodo ran towards the back doors of the cathedral and opened them swiftly, rushing inside as quietly as he could. The church was currently full of its faithful goers in attendance for the evening mass.

He held his breath as he held the unconscious soldier over his hunched back, soundlessly edging past the mass, the voice of the archdeacon echoing through the church.

" _Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you."_

Quasimodo made his way to the stairs that led to the bell tower, climbing up swiftly. He only allowed himself to breathe when he made it to his home. He immediately darted to set the man on a pile of blankets upon entering with as much ease as possible, wincing at the sight of the arrow that seemed to have pierced through his shoulder even through his armor.

Quasimodo's fingers flexed as he debated in his head whether or not to pull the arrow out. Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth and gripped the arrow, pulling it out and expecting the other to awaken with a scream or holler. When he received nothing, Quasimodo paled.

Was he dead?

The hunchback brought an arm around the others back, cradling him up to bring the stranger's clothed face to his ear. Quasimodo listened intently and released a shaky sigh of relief when he heard breathing; it was shallow but it was still there. He was alive but Quasimodo didn't know how tightly he was holding onto life.

"Stay here," He spoke to the soldier as if the other could hear him and began to run back down to the church in a panic.

He walked down the steps and carefully slipped into the shadows of the church. His hands were shaking as the archdeacon continued his service. It had felt like an eternity waiting for mass to be over. He was fidgeting anxiously when it finally ended after nearly an hour. He waited until the church was empty enough before attempting to grab the archdeacon's attention. Quasimodo began to whisper to the archdeacon who had walked closer towards Quasimodo's direction.

"Father!" Quasimodo whispered sharply, hoping to catch his attention, "Father Ezekiel!"

The archdeacon turned towards the sound of the whispers with a confused frown on his face until he noticed Quasimodo's hunched form hiding in the shadows. He approached him swiftly, concern etched on his face.

"What is it, my boy?" He questioned worriedly for Quasimodo hardly ever descended to the church, especially right after or right before a service.

"Father, I... T-There's a soldier in my room, he's wounded," Quasimodo began to blurt rapidly, his hands mimicking his words nervously, "H-H-He needs sanctuary."

"A soldier?" He frowned curiously, "Of course, of course but... What would a soldier need sanctuary from?"

As they both knew the soldiers were under Frollo's protection, the need for sanctuary was odd.

"I'm... not sure," Quasimodo answered honestly and proceeded to tell him everything he saw from above the tower.

Listening intently to Quasimodo's story, the archdeacon's face became grim. Aware of Frollo's hatred for the gypsies and by the sounds of the soldier's rebellious actions, the archdeacon put the pieces together in his head. But soldier or not, sanctuary was offered to those who sought it.

"Go up to the bell tower," Father Ezekiel spoke gently, placing an assuring hand on Quasimodo's un-hunched shoulder, "I will bring what you need to make sure he heals."

"Thank you, Father," Quasimodo exhaled, feeling slightly reassured as he headed back to the tower before anyone saw him.

Anxious to make sure the soldier was alright, Quasimodo practically ran to the bell tower, eagerly climbed up the small steps that led to his room only to stop mid-climb with a gasp.

The soldier was gone.

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 **Author's Note:**

And the Quasimodo x Safira interaction begins!

I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.

A special thank you to "Guest" for your review. I was literally having the worst day ever and when I came home and saw your kind words, it brightened up my whole day!

~ Laruto


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

" _But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart_ '."

1 Samuel 16:17

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Like an African cat stalking her prey, Safira stood on the wooden beam that allowed her to take in the sight of the confused hunchback. Her narrowed eyes watched every movement he made as he frantically began to look through the room. Upon looking at him she knew exactly who he was.

She had heard the people of Paris speak of the mysterious bell ringer but never paid mind to the stories. When she first looked at him, she had to admit she was thrown off for a moment. Never had she seen a sight like him before. Had she not woken up in a stranger's bed with severe body pain and a fuzzy memory, she would've been fascinated by his inhuman appearance. But in her eyes, he was the enemy right now. For all she knew he could be one of Frollo's minions holding her hostage.

"Where did he go?" She heard him question aloud, frowning at the desperation in his tone.

Waiting until he began to walk back towards her direction, she readied herself to pounce. With the bell tower dead silent, she tried to move subtly. Her movements caused the wooden beams to creak, drawing Quasimodo's attention.

She watched the hunchback suddenly freeze.

Leaping from above, she landed behind him with a loud thud, raising her sword over her head. With a gasp, Quasimodo turned and just managed to grab a hold of her wrist before she struck him.

"Wait!" Quasimodo exclaimed in alarm but when she showed no immediate sign of calming, he began to squeeze her wrist fiercely.

She winced as he nearly crushed it but she pushed past the pain. Instead, she used her other hand to grip his arm. Placing her weight on her upper body, she swept her leg underneath the hunchback's bow legged stance, forcing him to release her as they both fell to the ground. Quicker on her feet, Safira rolled over and stood above him.

With both hands gripping the hilt, she raised the sword above her head with the intention of driving it through his chest but he was faster than he looked. He rolled out of the way just in time, forcing Safira's sword deep into the wooden floor. She gave it a few tugs but it was hopelessly stuck. Leaving her sword, she whirled to see him lunging towards her.

Clenching her fist, she brought it fiercely towards his face but he caught it in his enormous hand, her entire hand disappearing into his fist.

"Calm down!" Quasimodo urged her, a heavy frown on his disfigured face but Safira refused to give in without a fight despite the terrible pain she was currently experiencing.

Quasimodo released a low sigh as he brought the soldier's hand sharply behind her back, shoving her to the ground with almost no effort before sitting on her back. Safira grunted through gritted teeth as her head slammed onto the floor, dizzying her further, the weight of the misshapen man proving too much. It was then she realized that he had been able to disarm her this entire time. He was only using force now because he had no other choice.

But logic had no place in Safira's heightened state as she shrieked loudly, "Unhand me, you brute!"

"I will release you if you promise not to attack me," He reasoned calmly.

Safira's jaw clenched; she felt humiliated, defeated and pained. After a moment of silence, she could hear the hunchback's voice once more.

"Or I can sit here all night and pin you down, your choice," He stated not unkindly, more matter-of-factly as if he were speaking to a child whose temper he was trying to soothe.

"You have my word," She bit out, "I won't attack you."

She gasped painfully as she felt him get up and release her, her body aching something fierce. She rolled onto her back and sat up slowly. Her eyes locked with her sword as the hunchback grasped the hilt and yanked it from the wooden floor with ease, bringing pieces of wood with it.

"Here," the disfigured stranger handed it to her, surprising her further.

She looked up at him to see him looking at her expectantly. Slowly taking the sword, she took the time to truly examine his face, taking in every detail.

She studied the harshness of his features such as his nose that looked like it had been struck upward with a heavy fist. When he spoke, he revealed crooked teeth yet no visible yellow staining, breaking or wear. The lovely shade of turquoise in his eyes was probably the only beautiful thing about him and could've made for pleasant-looking eyes were it not for the growth that settled itself over his left eye, almost covering it completely. His legs were bow-legged but they were strong enough to hold the giant hunch of a back he had. His arms were like tree trunks, roaring with god-like strength as one would expect from someone who rang bells the size of elephants every day.

What had caught her attention after his appearance was his voice. It was youthful and not unpleasant. Had she not been so panicked about her strange whereabouts, furious about being man-handled and in so much damn pain, she would've thought his voice to be strangely soothing.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable under Safira's intense gaze, Quasimodo ran a hand through his rich auburn hair, clearing his throat. It was then Safira noticed she had been staring but rather than look away or have the grace to at least appear embarrassed, she slowly stood from the ground with narrowed eyes.

"What am I doing here?" She asked sharply despite the fact that she was stumbling and struggling to stay on her two feet.

Concerned, he leaned forward to help but she immediately drew her sword warningly at him, the harshness in her tone actually causing him to flinch.

"Don't touch me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," He assured her, a deep frown settling on his brow as he looked at the sword she pointed at him.

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" She sneered, placing her sword back in its sheath when she realized holding her balance would be difficult.

"You gave me no choice," He insisted softly.

Ignoring his statement, she continued to focus on keeping her feet rooted to the ground without falling.

"You haven't answered my question," She pointed out.

"I found you," He answered simply, "You fainted outside the cathedral. I brought you to my home before the soldiers found you."

Her eyes widened, she was being continuously stunned by this man and she was not in the best state of mind for surprises. She responded irately and without gratitude.

"Why?" She asked suspiciously.

"Look, please sit down," He motioned to his bed, fearful that she would fall and hit her head, "And I will answer all your questions."

With a growl, Safira forced herself to walk stiffly to the floor-made bed she had roused from, clumsily sitting down to press her back against the wall. She exhaled lowly, her bones practically groaning in satisfaction at being rested. Pulling up a chair to sit across from the wounded soldier, Quasimodo watched him carefully, using this time to analyze Safira in the same manner she did to him.

He was shorter than the average man, definitely shorter than most soldiers. He was completely garbed in black; armor, cloth, gloves, boots, helmet. The only thing visible to Quasimodo were those icy-blue eyes that seemed to be weapons of their own with their sharp intensity.

"I'm sitting," The soldier pointed out impatiently, "Now talk."

"I saw what you did," Quasimodo began, ignoring the other's attitude.

She only stared at him, once again making him edgy under that fierce gaze. He wished the other wouldn't look at him that way; it made him feel almost paralyzed.

"Who else knows I'm here?" Was the next question.

"Just the archdeacon. He's granted you sanctuary."

"Well, isn't that kind of him?" She asked, the resentment in her tone alarming the other man, "That a soldier be granted sanctuary after taking the lives of so many."

"You saved that boy's life," Quasimodo exclaimed with wide eyes, confused at the man's hostile words.

"And sacrificed many as a result," Safira stated through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean?" Confused eyes peered at Safira curiously.

Safira realized she had been thinking out loud and opted for another question instead.

"What's your name?" She countered with sudden distrust.

"Q-Quasimodo."

She raised an eyebrow, the name as unusual as the man, "Who else lives here?"

"Just me," He assured her.

A moment of silence passed, her eyes finally drifting to scan the bell tower, giving Quasimodo a chance to breathe. He tapped his fingers together nervously, so many questions running through his head but he was too fearful of the other's temper to ask. Patience was not this soldier's best quality. When the soldier remained silent long enough, Quasimodo decided to ask anyway.

"W-Why were they after you anyway?" Quasimodo questioned hesitantly.

To his relief, he received a calm response yet his question brought those blue eyes back up, the intensity still present.

"I was instructed to execute the child and refused."

"B-By who?" Quasimodo blinked in alarm.

"Who else?" She scoffed, disgust evident in her voice, "The ever righteous Judge Claude Frollo. If I've ever met a more despicable man, I'd be in Hell greeting the devil himself."

Quasimodo paled, nearly flinching at the scathing remarks regarding his master. The sudden change in the hunchback did not go unnoticed by the soldier. She leaned forward slowly.

"How does one end up living in the bell tower, Quasimodo?" Her tone softened to a mere chill, "Part of the job as bell ringer?"

"I-I've always lived here," He responded anxiously, avoiding eye contact.

She narrowed her eyes questionably. If he was hiding something, he did a terrible job doing it. He hadn't had much practice in lying unlike Safira.

"I see," She kept her tone casual, "No family?"

"No-"

Quasimodo stopped mid-sentence, locking eyes with Safira as they both heard voices getting louder and louder. Quasimodo recognized his master's voice immediately, alarming him into jumping to his feet and immediately reaching for Safira whom he effortlessly threw over his shoulder with little care. Safira grit her teeth at the pain that radiated through her body, ready to demand that he release her but Quasimodo spoke before she could shout.

"Be quiet," Quasimodo urged, quieting the girl when she heard the urgency in the other's voice, "Whatever you do, don't make a sound."

Brought to a shadow-filled corner, Quasimodo hid her where he knew his master would never look. He set her down swiftly behind the wooden structure that held plates and cups. She sat in silence as the hunchback left her there frantically just in time to greet his master. Safira peered through the shelves to see Quasimodo frightened to death and making horrible attempts of appearing casual.

"Good evening, Quasimodo."

Safira froze at the all too familiar voice, her heart pounding as she became as still as the gargoyles perched outside the cathedral. The pain she experienced was suddenly gone, replaced by dread.

"G-Good evening, master," came Quasimodo's kind voice.

"Dear boy, whomever were you talking to?" Frollo questioned, forcing Safira to suck in her breath and hold it anxiously.

"O-Oh, m-m-myself."

"I see..." Frollo stared down at the hunchback curiously. Had Frollo not caught Quasimodo talking to himself or his "friends" before, he would've found this suspicious.

"W-What brings you to the cathedral so late, master?" Quasimodo tried to question with feign ignorance but Safira didn't even need to see his face to know he was doing a terrible job. She brought a hand to her eyes in frustration, rubbing them roughly.

"My men were on the... lookout... for a fugitive," Frollo spoke as his eyes seemed to be scanning the bell tower, "He seems to have disappeared around the cathedral; they're checking the church right now and I thought I'd stop by and make sure you were safe, my boy."

"O-Oh," Quasimodo managed to fake horror at the news very well.

"Not to worry, Quasimodo," Frollo gently patted the hunchback's soldier, "He will cause you no harm. My men will surround the cathedral to make sure he doesn't come in... Or out."

Providing a cold smile, Frollo began to descend back down the stairs after bidding Quasimodo good night. Safira waited until the footsteps faded before standing up slowly and walking from behind the dark corner, looking at Quasimodo who seemed to be having his own internal struggle.

"He's your master," Safira stated simply, the words coming from her lips as an observation rather than a question.

Quasimodo nodded slowly, biting his lower lip as he anticipated a raging tantrum from the other man but received only a sigh. Safira knew what having brought her into the cathedral meant for him; Quasimodo had disobeyed his master to keep her safe. Though he didn't know why she had been running from the soldiers when he rescued her, he knew she was running from Frollo's soldiers. To have done what he did meant he put himself at risk… for her.

"You should probably get some rest," Quasimodo suggested quietly.

"I need to find a way out of here-"

"You heard him," Quasimodo cut her off, "There's guards at every door. You're in no condition to be plotting an escape right now. We'll talk about it in the morning. Go get some rest."

With his back turned towards her, Safira stared after him wide-eyed. Never, in her adult life, had she had someone speak to her in such a manner. The only thing holding her back from yanking at his tunic and forcing him to help her escape was the truth behind his words. Even if she were to escape, where would she go?

She had no family, no friends, no housing, no way of leaving unnoticed and in her physical condition, she couldn't get very far. With a grumble of defeat, she walked back to the bed he had offered her and laid down.

Her dreams were haunted by dancing gypsies set aflame the entire night.

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Quasimodo perched himself on the wooden beams above the bell tower where he had a good view of the soldier. He would sleep there and make sure the other man didn't try to escape in the middle of the night.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_

He rubbed his eyes with a heavy sigh before looking down to stare at the seemingly sleeping soldier. He had to watch himself with this man. With a short temper and a hand that seemed to be constantly ready to draw his sword, Quasimodo wasn't sure if he stood a chance once he healed.

He had been lucky the soldier was disorientated and weakened when he woke up. But what if he hadn't been and had been able to put his skills to full use? Even so, the more he had interacted, Quasimodo wondered just how experienced this soldier was.

His voice, muffled by the bizarre scarf he wore around his face, made it difficult to hear him but he detected no real bass to his voice. It was raspy and husky, yes, but if Quasimodo didn't know better, he would swear he was speaking to a boy who had yet to develop a man's voice.

There were also those eyes. Those sapphire eyes that held no warmth or trust within them. The soldier had been suspicious of Quasimodo's intentions immediately, even attacked without question. Quasimodo didn't see the same man who had saved a child and risked his own life for the sake of another.

 _Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye..._ He tried to reassure himself.

Quasimodo had no idea how incredibly right he was.

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 _The Following Morning_

"Judge Frollo," Phoebus greeted the judge, tension making his body ache.

"Good morning, Captain," was the short greeting before the judge carried on, "Any sign of him?"

"No, sir," Phoebus shook his head, "We've searched through every gutter, every street, every home and building. We believe he may have left the city."

"Coward," Frollo spat, causing Phoebus to roll his hands into tight fists in annoyance, "Well, no matter. He's the least of our worries now. Thank you, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Phoebus nodded before dismissing himself.

Indeed Phoebus knew more about Safira's whereabouts than he let on. He had purposely led his men astray to give her more time to escape. By the time they circled Notre Dame, they found no sign of her or the child she had taken with her. But patrolling through the cities this morning, he had caught sight of a black figure from afar standing at the Notre Dame balcony.

As quickly as he had seen the figure, it had disappeared but Phoebus was no fool. It had been Safira. As much as he had tried to lead his men away, one soldier couldn't outrun seven on horseback. They had lost her around the cathedral because she was _in_ the cathedral.

Would it not be so suspicious, Phoebus would have verified this himself but knew it would be unwise. All he could do now was hope the soldier was alright and figure out a way to talk to her without getting them both discovered.

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Bells.

The first thing Safira heard were the deafening roars of the bells. She groaned, her head throbbing at the vibrations sent through the tower. Rays of sunlight shone through the bell tower. She winced as she slowly sat up, the sun greeting her eyes harshly.

With a hefty sigh, she forced herself to stand, placing her hand on the wall to keep her balance, her shoulder burning. She stood and cracked her sore back, reaching around to rub her shoulder. She began to walk sluggishly away from where she slept.

Her aim was to the balcony but her eyes landed upon Quasimodo's work table, his crafts and projects piquing her curiosity. As the bells continued to ring, she walked slowly to the table and picked up a wooden figurine. Her eyes studied the amount of detail of the carved townsfolk, running her thumb over the finely carved wood, perfectly painted to each indentation.

That was how Quasimodo found her.

After an initial panic of seeing an empty bed, Quasimodo began to look around the tower from above only to find the standing soldier observing the wooden replica of Paris and its people. Sighing in relief, Quasimodo grabbed the ropes to the still-ringing bells and climbed down, landing with a heavy thud.

Having sensed the hunchback's presence before he landed on the ground, Safira didn't flinch nor did she bother to look in his direction. Instead, she set down the figurine she held and picked up another.

"Good morning," She offered quietly when the bells stopped to a deep lull, keeping her back to him.

"Good morning," Quasimodo returned with a nod, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was tossed around and crushed by a giant," She said dryly, finally looking towards him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," Quasimodo rubbed the back of his head guiltily.

She went back to the figurines, eyeing them before setting one down and picking up the carving of what was obviously Quasimodo.

Quasimodo was a man of strength that she had never seen before. To pull the bells themselves was no easy task yet he seemed to do it so effortlessly. He had picked her up, armor and all, with almost no struggle and had nearly crushed her wrist into dust. Yet she was holding a work of art that could be done only by a man of gentle, detail-oriented hands. She set the figurine down and finally turned to face Quasiodo fully.

"You shouldn't be walking around yet," Quasimodo spoke in mild disapproval.

"I've had wounds worse than this," She spoke truthfully, "I've had a sword go right through my body."

"Really?" Quasimodo's eyes widened, "H-How did that happen?"

"War," She answered simply, "Truth be told I didn't feel much of it until after."

"After what?"

"After I killed the bastard who stabbed me."

Quasimodo swallowed his spit, "O-Oh."

The hunchback rubbed his arm, standing awkwardly. Safira was staring again. She couldn't help herself. He was truly a sight to behold. Quasimodo, too, studied Safira's face for a moment. She was still wearing the scarf around her face.

"Why do you wear that?" He gestured towards the scarf.

Safira hesitated. This was the second time she had been asked so bluntly but having relied on the rumors and stories to be the answers for her, she had no immediate answer for this particular man. Standing there now, she found it difficult to tell the lie herself. She opted for silence instead, hinting to the hunchback that he had probably crossed a line but before he could apologize, Safira began to ask questions of her own.

"How old are you, Quasimodo?"

It had been the first time she spoke his name.

"Twenty."

 _Same as me._

"You mentioned you've always lived here?" She asked, sitting down on the wooden chair by his working table. She began to toy with the figurines as she spoke.

"Yes."

"You don't leave?" She picked up a figurine and studied it.

"No."

"Why not?"

Quasimodo frowned at him as if the answer were obvious but Safira wasn't looking at him as she questioned him.

"I wouldn't exactly fit in out there."

"Neither do I but I go out anyway."

"Yeah, well… You don't know what it's like to be a monster," Quasimodo spoke quietly as he hobbled over to his work desk, taking the figurine from her hands.

Safira noted the change in him and realized she struck a nerve.

"You think I don't know what it's like?"

"I know you don't," Quasimodo began to walk away.

"For someone who fears so much judgement, you're giving a lot of it."

Quasimodo turned with wide eyes just as Safira stood, their eyes locking.

"W-What?"

"You make assumptions of me based on my appearance."

"I am not-"

"You assume that I don't know what it's like to have people fear me, recoil when they look at me just because I don't look like you. Maybe you should get to know someone first before you make rash judgements, Quasimodo."

Safira headed towards the balcony. She stopped just before she stepped out, looking over her shoulder at the stunned hunchback.

"I've seen my fair share of monsters. You're not one of them."

Quasimodo watched speechlessly as the soldier disappeared out into the balcony.

 **Author's Note:**

How is everyone liking the interaction so far?

Leave your thoughts, questions, critiques and/or praises!

~ Laruto


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

" _I look to the mountains; where will my help come from? My help will come from the LORD, who made heaven and earth_."

Psalm 121:1-2

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Safira kept her distance from Quasimodo. She would explore the cathedral, attend mass discreetly, eat and go to sleep. She repeated it over the next couple of weeks before she was slowly being driven crazy. She was beginning to feel trapped inside of the cathedral's stone walls.

Even now, as mass was ending, she was noticing how much her mind had drifted from the actual service. She was becoming more and more distracted by her troubled thoughts. She began to quickly ascend to the bell tower before anyone could notice her presence from within the shadows. As she entered, Quasimodo's voice rang from above.

"If you're going to be attending mass, you should at least take off your armor."

She glanced up at him. He was sitting on top of a wooden beam, polishing the bells. He hadn't even looked at her as he spoke.

"I have nothing else to wear," She replied simply.

"Father Ezekiel left you clothes, you know."

Indeed he had. After having slept in her armor for a couple of nights, she had been given an off-white tunic, brown hosiery, simple brown boots and a peasant's hat. She hadn't bothered to wear it. Truthfully, she was wary of removing her scarf. She had not shown her face to another human being in ten years and she wasn't about to start now.

She chose to ignore Quasimodo's reminder and instead countered with a subject-changing question.

"Don't you do anything else besides clean the bells?"

Quasimodo glanced at him through the corner of his eye. He had begun to know the soldier pretty well and he noticed whenever the other became defensive, she would heatedly change the subject.

"I do," Quasimodo answered patiently, "But maybe I'd take less time if I had a little help."

"You expect me to go up there?" She scoffed at the laughable idea.

"I don't expect you to do anything."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Quasimodo could sense the change in the other's aura, an idea popping into his head.

"Besides," Quasimodo continued passively, "It takes a lot of strength to handle the bells and I doubt you could-"

"I could clean those bells in half the time it takes you," She finally snapped.

Quasimodo stopped what he was doing and glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow with a light smile.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

Safira accepted his challenge and began to march angrily towards the ladder that led up to the wooden beams, muttering incoherently. Quasimodo chuckled lowly as he draped the rag over his shoulder, turning to face Safira who was currently hopping onto the wooden beam. He watched as she wobbled for a bit before grasping onto the wooden pillar desperately.

Quasimodo eyed him curiously before a look of realization came across his face as he took in the widening of the other's eyes.

"You're afraid of heights."

"I am not," She huffed as she continued to cling to the pillar.

Quasimodo began to laugh gently, the sight of the tough soldier nearly trembling over standing on a wooden beam amused him. Safira, on the other hand, did not find this at all funny. She scowled at him through her scarf, ready to retort until he began to walk towards her.

"Don't come near me!" She warned him, fearful that any movement would cause her to fall.

"There's nothing to be afraid of-"

"I am not afraid," She hissed at him.

Usually the other's harsh tone would stop Quasimodo dead in his tracks but seeing as how he was now in control, he felt no fear. Quasimodo beamed at her instead, extending his hand out. Safira eyed his hand for a moment, her eyes darting up to meet his. There was a twinkle in Quasimodo's eyes that she hadn't seen since she first woke up in the cathedral.

"If you push me-"

"I'm not going to push you," He assured her with a reassuring smile, "Just grab my hand."

Quasimodo couldn't possibly fathom how much trust he was asking of her. Her fear of heights had come as a teenager when she had fallen from three stories and broken her arm. She had been useless in the military for over a month. Since then, she refused to ever put herself in that situation. Quasimodo had managed to rile her up into breaking her promise to herself and right now she was sorely regretting her rash decision.

Still, she decided to give in and slowly reached for Quasimodo's hand. She uneasily let go of the beam to which Quasimodo immediately grabbed her other hand firmly. Safira shuddered, gripping his hands tightly as her smaller ones disappeared into his large fists.

"Relax," Quasimodo smiled, "I'm not going to let you fall."

She nodded curtly, keeping her composure as best as she could.

"Okay, I'm going to start walking back," He warned her.

Every step he took back, she took forward. He took his time for the other's sake. They walked for a bit until they reached the very bell Quasimodo was polishing.

"Okay, now we're going to switch-"

"I swear to God-"

"I won't let you fall," Quasimodo repeated firmly.

Safira grit her teeth as Quasimodo stood at the edge of the beam underneath them, allowing her space to walk in front of him. Safira began to slowly walk past him but refused to let go of his hand. Quasimodo watched with laughter in his eyes as he now stood behind her, having slid one hand from her arm to rest on her armored waist. He used his other hand to grab the rag and handed it to Safira over her shoulder.

"Here."

Safira grabbed the rag and leaned forward to polish the bell with Quasimodo's hands at her waist to keep her stable.

"How did you manage to climb up here the first time?" Quasimodo questioned.

"What are you talking about?" She spoke carefully as she focused on not falling despite the balance Quasimodo provided.

"The first day I brought you here."

Safira remembered now. That was when she climbed up without a second thought and pounced on him like a leopard. Just like now, her emotions had blinded her to her fear.

"When my survival is threatened, I suppose I forget the things that make me… uncomfortable."

Safira dropped the rag onto the wooden beam before clearing her throat.

"This is not a soldier's job anyway."

Quasimodo chuckled gently, "Alright then, turn around."

Safira reached for the hands that were settled at her waist, gripping them as she turned to face him. She looked at him as he began to walk backwards, slowly guiding her back towards the ladder.

"What do you have against heights anyway?" He asked as they walked.

"It's not so much heights as the lack of it that I have," Safira muttered dryly in regards to her short stature; short for a man, anyway.

Quasimodo burst into laughter at the other's self-deprecating joke. His shoulders shook, stopping his movements. Safira wished she hadn't made that joke as Quasimodo's hands loosened around her. She gasped when she began to wobble, losing her grip on him. She cried out as she began to fall off the beam.

She closed her eyes as the beam disappeared underneath her, expecting to hit the ground. When she didn't, she opened her eyes to see Quasimodo hanging off of the beam with one hand, his other arm wrapped around her middle. She scowled up at him but he only continued laughing.

"See? I told you I wouldn't let you fall."

She rolled her eyes as hung from the beam.

"Just get me down…"

Quasimodo's laughter filled the silence within the bell tower.

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 _Several Weeks Later_

"Damn it!"

Quasimodo looked up at Safira's curse as they both sat across from each other on the table where Quasimodo carved his wooden figurines. When Safira mentioned how bored she was becoming, Quasimodo offered – or rather challenged her – to create figurines with him. Safira hadn't been on board initially but after the insinuation that she wouldn't be good at it, she swiftly changed her mind. Right now she was struggling with making a decent-looking figurine.

"Take your time, Sacha," Quasimodo smiled as he worked on one himself, "Don't carve such large chunks."

"This is impossible," She grumbled as she tossed the ruined piece of wood before grabbing another.

Quasimodo laughed gently as he continued to carve his own figurine. Safira noted he spent a lot of time laughing at her as of late. It wasn't as irritating to her as it probably should have been.

"All done," Quasimodo spoke proudly, setting the figurine in front of her.

"Well, of course you're done," She growled bitterly before grabbing the figurine to look at it, "You've been doing this a hundred years… What the hell is this anyway?"

"It's you. It'll look better when I paint it."

Safira scoffed, shaking her head as she took in the details. He had managed to carve the indents of her armor, even the details of the scarf around her face, leaving only eyes exposed. It was quite impressive but she would be damned if she let Quasimodo know she thought so.

"It's alright, I suppose," She placed it back on the table.

"Why don't we try again tomorrow?" He smiled kindly, "I have to ring the evening mass."

Safira grumbled incomprehensibly as she set her tools down and walked away from the table. Quasimodo chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed up the bells. The soldier, albeit still grumpy and ill-tempered, was slowly coming out of his shell. What Quasimodo didn't know was that Safira had been trying to divert herself from her thoughts by spending time with Quasimodo. She admittedly found his company pleasant but it still didn't fully distract her from the darkness that would creep up when she remembered what she was supposed to be doing: protecting the gypsies of Paris.

She was slowly losing her mind. She needed to get out of the cathedral, needed to speak to Phoebus and needed to know her people were safe. She was beginning to get desperate but she had concocted a plan to get her out of the cathedral unnoticed, even if it meant for a short while.

Safira peered up towards the bells and waited until Quasimodo was out of fight before rushing over to where she slept. The clothes the archdeacon had left for her were still laid out. She immediately began to remove her armor and black clothes, her scarf sliding off her face as her long, black hair spilled from underneath her helmet. She left the bandages that she wrapped around her chest, keeping her breasts sealed tight. Sliding into the clothing, she clumsily put on her boots. She reached for the peasant hat, wrapping her hair up before tucking it underneath. She grabbed her sword along with its sheath and hid it in her hosiery.

Safira brought her hand to her silver necklace and unclasped it. She darted towards Quasimodo's work table and draped her necklace over the figurine he had made of her. She dashed off towards the evening mass, leaving her pile of black armor, clothes and scarf piled up in her corner.

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Safira felt completely exposed. No one even noticed her presence yet without her scarf covering her face, she felt like she would be recognized. Though no one did, she still couldn't shake off her uneasiness. She sat in on the mass and waited until it ended before she walked out with the crowd of people inconspicuously.

Walking as casually as she could through town, Safira glanced through the corner of her eyes at her surroundings. It had been so long since she last walked in public without her armor and she felt extremely vulnerable; she didn't like that feeling. Not one bit. But what else was she to do? With her disguise proving to be successful, she began to dart towards the soldier's quarters where she hoped to find Phoebus.

She knew she was taking a huge risk but she had been unable to sleep the night before just thinking of the events that have forced her to come to this point. She held no more status, she was unable to even walk out in broad daylight in fear she would be known. Though getting to Phoebus was priority, her main concern at the moment was making sure no one would take note of her.

Even with the men's clothing she wore, she felt like she lost her masculinity. Her armor gave an illusion of bulk and muscle. But without it, she would lucky if she passed off as an awkward teenage boy.

With her body as stiff as a wooden board and her eyes scanning soldiers, her sharp ears caught the sound of a familiar jingle. Turning towards the noise, she could see a form huddled behind the shadow of the bakery.

"Come out, whoever you are," Safira called out gruffly.

Esmeralda hesitated for only a moment before exposing herself to the moonlight, several feet away from Safira. They locked eyes and in an instant, Esmeralda knew who she looked upon: The Black Soldier. She approached him slowly, taken aback by the exposure of his face which was half-covered by a shadow Safira purposely kept herself in.

She waited until Esmeralda was at arm's length before speaking.

"Why am I not surprised to see you wandering around the city of Paris at such an hour?"

The dark-skinned gypsy crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous smirk. Truth be told, after hearing the demise of the captain after saving the gypsy boy, she had feared the worst and thought him long gone from Paris. Seeing him now brought immense relief to the gypsy.

"I'm not sure," Esmeralda answered smoothly, "But I'm surprised to see _you_ wandering around here. Shouldn't you be in hiding?"

"I don't hide," Safira narrowed her eyes, "I am making myself scarce until I can figure out how to-"

"How to what?" Esmeralda questioned, "Become captain again? I'm afraid that's not going to happen again."

The green-eyed girl immediately regretted her words at the sound of an unsheathing sword being pointed at her neck by Safira. With lightning speed, Safira had slid it out of her clothes and its sheath expertly.

"I'd be very careful, _Green Eyes_ ," Safira retorted coldly, "I may have lost the armor but I carry my sword wherever I go."

Esmeralda stared at the soldier intently, glancing only briefly behind the other's shoulder. The sound of a horse's hooves caught both of their attention. Safira sheathed her sword back in time, looking over her shoulder to see a soldier's horse headed towards them.

 _Damn!_

Glancing back at Esmeralda, Safira was met with only thin air as the retreating sound of golden bracelets jingling diminished into nothing. She cursed the gypsy for once again distracting her from her purpose. She stiffened when she heard the soldier's booming voice across the city.

"Hey you!"

Safira felt her legs react before her mind could; she ran opposite of where the gypsy had gone and towards the soldier's quarters. It had been a mistake to try and outrun the soldier. Galloping behind what he thought as a suspicious-looking teenage boy, the soldier began to shout demands to halt. Knowing full well she wouldn't be able to outrun a military horse, she made random sharp turns in the gutters of Paris. She ran into an empty alleyway but was met with a dead end; a wooden fence that was much too tall for her to jump over.

Breathing heavily and heart pounding, Safira placed her hands on her knees as she hunched over herself. She knew there was no escape this time.

"Damn… _Damn_!" She cursed under her breath, the sound of the horse's hooves getting louder.

Panicked as she was, she was oblivious to the cloaked figure that was approaching behind her until a hand slapped over her mouth and another around her waist. She screamed into the stranger's hand as she was hauled violently out of the alley and into the shadows.

"Don't make a sound," Came a man's voice in Safira's ear.

Wanting to avoid the soldier's capture more than get out of this stranger's grasp, Safira obeyed as she watched the unknown man led her to what appeared to be a loose pieces of wood that blended perfectly into the walls of the dead end. She had been staring at an escape and had not even realized it.

With the mysterious man hoisting her like a rag doll through the entrance, Safira could only watch him close the entrance swiftly with his foot as her back pressed against his chest. Bringing them both down to the ground, he continued to keep a hand over her mouth which she allowed for the time being. Being held extremely close against his chest, she could almost hear the swift pounding of the other man's nervous heart as the soldier could be heard just on the other side of the wall.

Tense silence followed until the soldier's horse could be heard leaving the area. The man waited a few moments further before he released Safira and stood from the ground.

"Are you crazy?!" Came the man's next words.

Turning to face him, Safira's eyes widened as the cloaked man pulled back his hood to reveal Phoebus' handsome face.

"What are you doing coming out of the bell tower," He snapped coldly, startling her, "And talking to that gypsy again of all things!"

"You… recognize me," She stated simply, "How did you even know I was here?"

"I happened to attend mass today and followed you," He nodded towards her sword before addressing her first statement, "And a peasant boy doesn't openly carry a soldier's sword. It was foolish."

"I couldn't leave without it," She spat back, her cheeks flushing angrily at his words.

"You're drawing too much attention to yourself by bringing it with you. You're lucky that particular soldier who saw you is too stupid to make that connection."

"Do you think he'll notify Frollo?" She questioned lowly.

"I doubt it," Phoebus stared down at Safira grimly, "He has to come to me first."

The irritation in his eyes was beginning to rub off on Safira who, in turn, glared up at him. Without her full disguise, she felt defenseless and weak before the captain who was once her equal. It made her all the more defensive.

"Don't look at me like that," He warned her, bringing a finger to her face as he would a child, his tone evident that he was in no mood for playing games.

Smacking his hand away fiercely, she spoke through gritted teeth, "I will look at you how I damn well please, _Captain_."

Fed up with the other's stubbornness, Phoebus drew his sword swiftly in an attempt to regain control. Not realizing Sacha still had the mentality of a soldier, she drew hers as well. Their sword clashed roughly before Phoebus grabbed a hold of her collar and brought their faces close; their swords crossed between them.

"Listen to me," He growled lowly, "If anyone sees you and you're brought to Frollo, it's straight to the gallows – I can't protect you at that point. Stay in the cathedral."

"I needed to see you," She hissed back, the fierceness in her eyes matching the fire in her voice.

"The only thing you need is to stay out of sight," He raised his voice slightly, finally shoving her away from him, sheathing his sword impatiently before turning his back to her. He only managed to take a few steps before her next words froze his steps.

"I need to make sure my people are safe!"

Realizing what she had just blurted, Safira cursed lowly as Phoebus slowly turned to stare at her. His confused brown eyes searched for her face. He walked back towards her until he was only at arm's length.

" _Your_ people?"

After a moment of silence, she brought her icy-blue eyes to his warm earth-colored orbs.

"Yes."

"You're a-"

"Gypsy, yes," She nodded slowly.

"H-How…?" He shook his head, his eyes scanning her from head-to-toe, bringing immediate discomfort to the masquerading woman, "You don't look like a gypsy."

"You know, we all don't come in the same color," She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

"Why become a soldier? Why become what your people are running and hiding from?"

"To protect them," She stated it as if it were the most obvious answer.

"No," He shook his head insistently, "There's more to it. Isn't there, Sacha?"

She grit her teeth, tilting her chin up defiantly. Ready to retort, she lost her reasoning at the sudden compassion in his eyes. God damn those eyes that almost leaked with humanity. There was something about this particular man that made her feel as if she could trust him with her darkest secrets.

"Yes… There is," She admitted shortly.

First Quasimodo and now Phoebus. Slowly but surely, the wall that she had built over the years was being torn down, brick by excruciating brick. As painful as it was, she found no other way to get to her goal than to tell the truth – or at least part of it.

"My parents were killed by soldiers. Like you."

Phoebus' features hardened, "No. Not like me. I would never kill a gypsy for being a gypsy."

"Would you _look after_ a gypsy? Protect them? Come to their aid?" She challenged him, questioning his intentions.

"I believe I already have."

It was his turn to cross his arms smugly over his chest, an amused smirk graced his handsome face. A French soldier did indeed watch over and protect a gypsy – a girl, no less, though that part Phoebus was unaware of. Safira stared hard at him before finally looking away, still too proud to verbally allow Phoebus to take over the task as sole gypsy protector.

Walking to stand beside her, Phoebus placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. He could see this was very difficult for the prideful soldier. It was both a combination of her inability to trust people and the disappointment of not being able to help the gypsies herself. As a man, Phoebus could understand how big of a blow it was to her ego.

"Your people are under my watch now. Do you trust me enough with that task?"

With a heavy sigh, she looked up at him with displeasure.

"I suppose I have no choice, Captain."

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Pacing the bell tower, Quasimodo was cracking his knuckles and wringing his thick wrists. He was an absolute nervous wreck. He had climbed all around the tower in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Safira but it was much too dark to make any figure of anything. Picturing the soldier in jail awaiting death or hung prevented Quasimodo from getting any sleep. He questioned whether or not he could sneak out to find her. He was ready to grab his cloak, his hands shaking.

The sound of steps making their way to the bell tower only furthered his anxiety, visions of Frollo ascending to smugly inform him that Safira had been captured flooded his imagination. He looked towards the steps with horrified expectancy, the candles lit in the bell tower giving enough dim light to reveal Safira walking up the steps as casually as if she had just gone from a brisk walk.

Quasimodo stared wide-eyed at her, momentarily thrown off by the lack of scarf. Safira quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You're up late."

After the initial surprise of seeing her face melted away, Quasimodo felt his blood boiling. A fierce glare was now plastered over the hunchback, his shaking fists clenched by his side. Before Safira could ask what his problem was, Quasimodo's angry voice surprised her.

"Where were you?!" He exclaimed, "I have looking for hours, climbing the cathedral like a madman trying to find you! I almost left to go and look for you!"

Blinking in surprise at the sudden outburst, Safira found herself momentarily speechless. She opened her mouth to explain but Quasimodo wasn't finished.

"I thought you were imprisoned or _dead_! With soldiers patrolling every corner of the city, what was I supposed to think?!" He continued to scold fiercely, "What makes you think you can just go out without telling me?!"

"I did."

"You did not!" He insisted, pointing a finger accusingly at her.

Annoyed that this was the second finger that had been pointed at her tonight, Safira narrowed her eyes but responded with surprising patience.

"You didn't see that I left my most prized possession to let you know I would be back?"

Quasimodo frowned darkly, "I didn't see anything!"

Too tired to argue, she merely nodded towards Quasimodo's crafts desk. Staring at her with doubt in his eyes, Quasimodo turned towards his desk where he immediately caught a glimmer of silver that he had not noticed before. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed the necklace that had been draped over the wooden figurine.

Embarrassment washed over Quasimodo like a cold bucket of water yet his anger remained. He turned to glare at Safira and was met with only another irritatingly smug raising of an eyebrow

"Worried about me, were you?" Safira questioned.

"Well, yes," Quasimodo admitted quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor as he walked towards her and handed her the necklace. She found herself touched by his concern.

"I apologize for worrying you," She spoke with sincerity, taking the necklace from him and putting it back on, "I was sure you'd see it and I'd come back to find you asleep."

She pulled a chair to sit down by the desk. She looked at Quasimodo who had an obvious question in his eyes.

"It's a necklace my parents gave to me," She answered his unspoken question, "I never leave anywhere without it. But even if you had seen it, I suppose that bit of information would've been useful to provide the reassurance I intended to give to you."

"Yes, well… Just be more careful," He muttered.

Quasimodo took this time to study the other's face. This was the first time he was seeing it and he found that it was nothing like he expected. It was much softer; no sharp angles of the face, no large jaw or even a trace of hair on her face. Her nose was small and rested almost flatteringly above full lips. Her face was porcelain, smooth and rounded; the soldier was no more than a boy in Quasimodo's eyes. Even the other's voice, no longer muffled by the scarf, was raspy but clearly not a grown man's voice.

"What are you staring at?" She finally snapped, standing from where she sat.

Now she understood why Quasimodo had been so uneasy when she had stared at him in the same manner upon meeting him.

"Nothing," He insisted, "You… look younger than I expected."

She stared at him long enough to make him tense again. He quietly bid her good night before he hobbled off, not wanting to irritate her further. Safira watched him as he retreated to his quarters. She sat for a moment in deep thought before forcing herself to get her mind off of Phoebus and the gypsy people.

As she slid herself into bed, she would get no sleep that night. Her mind was haunted by terrifying dreams of slaughtered gypsies, the tormenting screams of her mother's voice echoing amongst the bloody genocide.

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 **Author's Note:**

A special thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave a review; whether it's for praise or critique, I appreciate your feedback and I take it all into consideration for improvement.

It completely brightens my day when I am notified of a new review.

You're all amazing!

~ Laruto


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

" _And_ _be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit_."

Ephesians 5:18

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Much to Phoebus' displeasure, Safira's midnight appearances were becoming more and more frequent. At times they would sit and talk, he would update her on Frollo's plans. The majority of time, their visits would end in spats at her resistance of staying in Notre Dame despite his urging and in turn she would return to Quasimodo in a foul mood.

Mostly recently, Safira had taken it upon herself to obtain spirits* in an attempt to soothe her rage and growing depression. Quasimodo had been more than displeased at the number of times Safira would return with alcohol on her breath but said nothing in fear that the already irate ex-soldier would do something violent in her drunken state.

Neither Phoebus nor Quasimodo realized that the more time Safira spent in the bell tower, the more depressed she became. Despite feeling reassured that her people were being taken care of by Phoebus, the fact that she was unable to do it herself was providing her with an overwhelming sense of failure.

Was she really to spend the remainder of her days in the bell tower, hiding like a coward? She was a fierce lion that craved to roam free through the savanna. She was not meant to be caged. She missed using her sword for more than just playful practice with Phoebus. She missed the weight of her armor, the sweat that dripped down her brow during the intensity of battle, the feeling of accomplishment when she saved a life or thrust her sword through an enemy's heart. Safira lived for battle, she lived to fight for what was just. Now she spent her days in a daze, sitting and pondering about the past.

That was how Esmeralda found her: sitting openly in the moonlight by the city's fountain.

Frowning curiously, the green-eyed gypsy began to approach Safira as quietly as she could but the tiny jingle of the gypsy's bangles brought Safira's sharp senses out of their alcoholic daze. The ice-blue eyes that had once held no emotion were now overflowing with them as she stared fiercely at Esmeralda. Esmeralda's breath caught in her throat at the sheer intensity in her eyes.

"You're a stubborn one, Green Eyes," Safira stated simply.

"No more so than you," Esmeralda responded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the slurring of the other's words, "Should you be out in the open like this?"

"Should _you_?" Safire retorted coldly, "I've told you time and time again to stay away from me."

Esmeralda pursed her lips, disgusted.

"Look at yourself," Esmeralda scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief, "What happened to the soldier who saved my life? Who saved _our_ lives? Who we admired-"

"Shut up!" She shouted now, the loudness in her voice echoing through the night sky, startling Esmeralda into taking a step back from her as Safira finally stepped out of the darkness. The moonlight shone upon her face fully now.

"Don't speak of me as if you know me," Safira hissed furiously, her eyes burning with a fury that alarmed Esmeralda into biting her tongue.

This has been the first time Esmeralda had truly seen her face fully in complete light. She felt her heart sink at the face she was presented with; the heart-shaped lips, the long eyelashes and soft features. Paired along with the soft voice that Esmeralda had noticed before but thought nothing of as well as the lack of muscle. And those fierce eyes that were so blue. A legendary blue.

Before her heart rate could slow down, Safira stomped furiously away from her and towards the cathedral. Esmeralda watched after her with wide eyes, bringing a hand to her racing heart pensively. She began to note the little things that she never noticed before such as Safira's unusually small build for a soldier with such a fearsome reputation. And how Safira had reacted upon Esmeralda kissing her: she had tensed up, obviously uncomfortable when any man in her position would have returned Esmeralda's kiss just as fiercely.

She had also, never in her entire life of living in Paris, seen or even heard of a Sacha Charbonneau. No one had. Yet, Sacha appears as if from nowhere right after the Court of Miracles had mourned the ten year anniversary of the blue-eyed gypsy's disappearance.

 _Could it possibly be…?_

Her mind raveling the pieces, she returned to the Court of Miracles; several questions running through her head that she intended to have answered.

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Storming into the bell tower rather loudly, Safira drew the attention of Quasimodo. He retreated from his bedroom to greet a very drunk and very upset roommate. A deep frown already set on his face, Quasimodo approached Safira who was currently swaying dangerously. It had been a miracle she hadn't tripped on the way up the bell tower steps. Quasimodo stepped forward with the intention of aiding her to her bed.

"Don't," She immediately rejected his help.

The ice in her tone was like a mist of frost that blew throughout the entire tower. But Quasimodo was in no mood; he had tolerated it well for the last couple of weeks but his patience was very thin tonight.

"Sacha," Quasimodo began with a heavy sigh, "Please let me just help you get to your room. I will leave you alone after that."

"If you come near me-" She began to threaten but felt herself being hauled over the other's shoulder.

The impact of her stomach on his hunched shoulder winded her momentarily, the sudden movement causing her head to spin tremendously. Her limbs were like butter, fighting was futile in the grip of the powerful bell ringer. She found herself chuckling softly, the sound building into almost maniacal fits of laughter.

"You… are… a brute," She finally spoke between cold laughter as Quasimodo brought her to his bedroom.

When she received nothing but silence, she continued to try and goad the hunchback.

"Is there nothing else you can do with those monstrous hands of yours besides man-handle me?"

Quasimodo knew full well what Safira was attempting to do. He grit his teeth in annoyance but resisted losing his temper.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoy man-handling me-"

Dropping the other with a loud thud on his bedroom floor, Quasimodo stared down at her with deep disapproval. She responded with a dark laugh, dusting herself off before she brought herself slowly to her feet, swaying dangerously.

"Stay down," Quasimodo advised, bringing his hand to her shoulders in a futile attempt to stop her.

"Or what?" Her voice became hoarse as she stared into Quasimodo's turquoise gaze, "You'll hurt me? Kill me? Tell me what you could possibly do."

"I won't do anything," He responded patiently, "But if you try and stand, you'll hurt yourself."

"No amount of physical pain would ever come close to the pain I already feel," She blurted without realizing, her voice a pained whisper.

The power in her words were enough to soften Quasimodo's features. He had known the other wasn't herself but had no idea that it was this bad. For weeks, Safira had become more and more isolated. She would talk less, be away from the bell tower more often and more recently drinking. He hadn't even thought for a moment that it was her way of coping.

"I know you're upset," Quasimodo's hands on the other's shoulders relaxed and began to squeeze comfortingly, "But behaving like this won't change anything."

Quasimodo's words were like a ton of bricks collapsing on Safira. Gritting her teeth, she stared up at the hunchback. Her sorrow began to overpower her strength. Now staring into two desolate pools of blue, Quasimodo helped her to her feet only to have her finally drift into alcoholic unconsciousness.

With a saddened sigh, he scooped her up as he would a child and gently set her down on her bed. He suddenly began to feel very guilty for heaving her over his shoulder none too gently and for dropping her purposely. He pulled his blanket over the sleeping girl before staring down at her.

Her face softened even more so when it relaxed as it did now. It was almost startling how feminine this supposed man looked. Quasimodo reached up for her hat, gripping it gently. He kept his hand on her hat, studying her gentle features.

With a shrug, he released the hat and exited his bedroom. Gently closing the door behind him, he leaned his back against it, he ran a hand through his auburn hair, blowing a chunk of hair out of his view. He stood there for a while before he hobbled over to his work desk, sitting down tiredly. Picking up the wooden figurine painted in black, with only two blue eyes offering color, Quasimodo began to ponder what the truth was behind this mysterious man.

Busying himself with small tasks, he grabbed the black armor that had Safira had kept in her corner and tossed it aside, reminding himself to throw it out in the morning.

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Vibrations spread loudly through the bell tower, sending a painful surge through Safira's temples as she awoke groggily. Her mouth dry and her stomach churning, she groaned lowly in displeasure as the bells continued to urge her awake. It seemed no matter how late she slept or how much she drank, the bell's cries were more powerful than her ability to sleep through them. Immediately irate, she sat up slowly and clutched her throbbing head.

Only after the sound of bells died down did she reach for her hat on the floor and fix her hair underneath it. She had no memory of last night. In fact, she wasn't sure how she made it back to the bell tower. But there was no doubt in her mind she had been less than pleasant when arriving. She felt a pang of remorse at the thought of Quasimodo possibly being the next victim of her drunken wrath as he seemed to be more of as of late. Sitting with her head in her hands, she closed her eyes as her guilt began overwhelm her.

He had been nothing but kind and patient since her chaotic arrival and how did she repay him? By behaving like a buffoon. Every morning when she woke up feeling the after effects of her drinking and the faint memories of her behavior, it disgusted her. Yet, she was unable to do anything else but continue to soak in her anger and sorrows. When had she become so pathetic?

With a heavy sigh, Safira forced herself to slide out of bed to face Quasimodo. She walked to the door and walked out into the bell tower, expecting to be blinded by the sunlight. She was horrified to see the night sky glittering outside of the bell tower. She had slept the entire day. The bell tower was dark, dully lit by the moonlight that peeked through and a few burning candles that created a heavenly, peaceful glow.

"Good evening."

She turned towards Quasimodo's soft voice, looking upwards to see him perched up above amongst the bells.

"Good evening," She nodded curtly.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, genuine concern in his voice – it only made her feel guiltier.

"Horrible but I suppose I deserve no less," She responded lowly.

She walked to his desk and sat down. She leaned forward, bringing her fingers to her temples, rubbing them in an attempt to soothe her headache. With her eyes closed, she spoke again.

"Come down, I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Come out of the damn shadows so I can speak to you properly!" She looked up irately before mentally cursing herself. This was supposed to be an apology. It certainly wasn't off to a good start.

Quasimodo did as she requested and hopped down from the second floor of the tower. Landing a few feet away from her, he was met with the intensity of her cobalt eyes. They were blank, the moment of vulnerability he had seen the night before was gone as if it had never existed.

"I apologize for whatever I may have said or done last night," She spoke sternly, the dim lighting of the candles providing such a breathtaking softness to her tense features.

"No need," Quasimodo insisted, providing a lie for her benefit, "You didn't say or do much before you fell asleep."

"I see," She lowered her eyes, "Regardless, I am sorry for my recent behavior. I know it hasn't been easy for you as well to have me here and to repay you with anything less than gratitude-"

"I understand-"

"Don't make excuses for me," She stopped him with a surprising gentleness in her tone.

Her eyes suddenly looked straight into his. He held his breath as the ice within them melted, bringing a haunting sparkle long forgotten into those evocative eyes. He could swear he was looking at an entirely different person in that moment.

"You have been… so kind," Safira spoke quietly, almost in a daze as she looked at him.

 _You have been nothing short of remarkable._

Almost like a crackling spark of fire that began as shortly as it died, she cleared her throat and looked away. The exposed softness he had witnessed was gone. Quasimodo smiled gently as Safira shifted uncomfortably in her seat, noticeably uncomfortable. But before he could say anything, the faint and sudden sound of a carriage pulling up in front of the cathedral drew both of their attentions outside.

Quasimodo's eyes widened as he rushed to the balcony, his fears confirmed.

"Frollo," Quasimodo whispered in panic, rushing back to Safira, "Quick, hide!"

Safira stood up swiftly, allowing Quasimodo to grip her wrist and yank her towards her usual hiding place behind the shelf that stored their dinnerware. Though Safira frequently had to hide from Frollo during his visits, neither of them could ever get used to the anxiety and tension it brought them.

Sitting behind the shelf, Safira looked up at Quasimodo through the gaps whose nervous expression brought an annoying skip to her heart that she couldn't quite understand. Pushing the unfamiliar feeling aside, she sat back and pulled her knees to her chest, focusing on keeping quiet. Quasimodo sprinted to his crafts table, grabbing a figurine he had been working on and proceeded to carve it casually. He was becoming better and better at keeping his calm each time Frollo visited.

Hearing Frollo's footsteps as he entered the bell tower, she felt a sense of darkness that she could only describe as evil. His voice forced her eyes shut as she brought her knees closer to her chest. With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she was unsure of why she was feeling particularly nervous this time.

"Good evening, Quasimodo," Came Frollo's stern voice.

"Oh, good evening, Master!" Quasimodo responded politely.

The visit began as usual. Frollo would feign concern and interest in Quasimodo, he would recite their alphabet and bible verses. Light conversation ensued after that. Safira was almost beginning to relax until the topic amongst Frollo and Quasimodo took a sudden change.

"The Festivals of Fools is just around the corner," Quasimodo mentioned quietly.

"Mmm," Frollo responded disinterestedly, "Yes, a little over a month away."

"How… exciting."

A tense silence followed between them. Safira carefully shifted to peer through the shelves, catching a perfect glimpse of Frollo staring coldly at Quasimodo.

"What are you trying to say, Quasimodo?" Frollo questioned with a tone that lit Safira's blood on fire.

"N-Nothing, Master-"

"Don't tell me… You want to go?"

Though it had been asked as a question, both Safira and Quasimodo knew it was rhetorical.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Frollo responded with a cruel smirk, "You wouldn't want to put yourself through the torment, would you, my boy?"

"No, Master," Quasimodo responded dejectedly, his head hanging in what was obvious disappointment.

Safira grit her teeth as Frollo reached to cup Quasimodo's chin and lift it upwards in what was such a false display of affection in her eyes.

Frollo's tone dripped with bitter honey, "You're truly better off here. You're missing nothing, my boy."

Quasimodo responded with a silent nod. Their conversation continued awkwardly for a moment longer before Frollo stood and decided it was time for him to depart. Safira waited patiently as Frollo descended down the bell tower, waiting for Quasimodo's appearance before she knew it was safe.

When Frollo's carriage left, Quasimodo rushed over to Safira, offering his hand to help her up. She took his hand and stood quietly, looking upon his face. The look of sadness in his eyes brought an emotion out of her that she could only describe as… anger? Annoyance? A mixture of the two? She wasn't sure.

He let go of her hand to walk back over to his wood-carving table. She walked after him from behind the shelf and sighed, unsure of what to say to bring his spirits back up. He sat down at the table, placing his arms onto the table and resting his chin over them.

"You know, you're not really missing much," She began awkwardly, sitting down next to him as he stared at the wooden replica of Paris on his desk.

He merely toyed with a carving of a peasant woman, the disappointment in his face evident. Safira thought for a moment before she reached over and grabbed the wooden carving Quasimodo had made of her long ago and placed it in the bell tower beside the figurine of the hunchback.

He looked at her in surprise before a smile involuntarily graced his face. She returned his smile with a slight one of her own. Safira looked at him, hesitating to speak but the words poured out of her before she could stop herself.

"You know, I was in a situation similar to yours once."

"Oh?" Quasimodo's curiosity was piqued.

"Yes," She nodded with a humorless smirk, "For the first ten years of my life, I lived in the Court of Miracles without stepping foot outside. My parents always insisted it was for my own good."

"Court of Miracles?" He questioned confusedly.

"It's a haven for gypsies," She clarified patiently.

"Gypsies?" He frowned, "You're a gypsy?"

"Yes," She confirmed then thought back to Phoebus' words, "I may not look like your typical gypsy but I am."

"My mother was a gypsy," He informed her.

Safira looked at him with genuine surprise and interest.

"She was?"

"Yes."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know," He shrugged, "Frollo found me outside of the cathedral."

A frown graced Safira's face as she listened.

"You were…?"

"Abandoned. Yes."

It was amazing to Safira that someone as cruel as Frollo would willingly take in a misshapen infant and raise it as his own. It didn't make sense. She was ready to ask further questions but Quasimodo wanted to know more of her past.

"Did your parents change their mind?"

"No," She shook her head, turning her attention to a wooden figurine, "I snuck out… to attend the Festival of Fools."

"Did they find out?" He asked fascinatedly.

"No. They were killed that night. By soldiers."

He was already looking horrified, she hesitated for a moment before she confessed the remainder, "Then I killed them."

Quasimodo's eyes widened. She didn't even want to glance in his direction, inexplicably fearful of the possible look of revulsion he would have on his face. She had never been ashamed of what she had done. In her mind, it was a justifiable murder. Yet, knowing that her secret may cause Quasimodo to think less of her brought her an unfamiliar sense of shame. She set the figurine she had been playing with aside and stood up, her voice cold.

"I'm the real monster here."

She turned away from him and began to walk but the sound of his voice stopped her.

"You're not a monster."

She looked back at him in surprise as he stood. His face was not that of terror, shock or disgust. In his eyes there was no judgement but instead understanding. He approached her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, a smile on his face that could only be described as grateful. He was indeed grateful for the story she had chosen to share with him; he knew what it meant for the usually close-hearted soldier to do so just for the sake of comforting him.

"I don't see a monster," He informed her, "I only see a friend."

Safira felt her jaw tense up almost painfully. She cleared her throat, swallowing the ball that suddenly formed in her throat. Safira thought she knew what she hated more than anything in the world; Frollo, feelings of weakness and vulnerability, dresses, the Festival of Fools. But as she stared into Quasimodo's kind eyes, she realized what she hated the most:

The thought of losing his friendship.

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Esmeralda waited the presence of the King of Gypsies, a man who knew more about the history of gypsies than anyone else did. If anyone could provide her with answers – minus the golden captain Sacha seemed to interact well with – it would be him.

"Clopin will see you now," a gypsy male's voice startled her out of her thoughts as he exited Clopin's tent deep within the Court of Miracles.

With a nod to the gypsy man, she stepped inside and was greeted by Clopin sitting and leaning his elbows against a table, a crystal ball on the table. A flirtatious grin on his face and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes put her at ease immediately.

"Good evening, Esmeralda," He smiled brightly as he began to wave his hands playfully over his crystal ball, "I knew you were coming today."

"Did you?" She smirked amusedly, raising an eyebrow, "Then do you know what I'm here for?"

"You have a question," He continued to wave his hands over the crystal all, his face emitting the expression of concentration.

"Yes," She confirmed, "I have a question… about the missing blue-eyed gypsy."

Clopin's demeanor changed drastically. His hands stopped their waving motion, bringing them slowly to the table, the impish sparkle in his eyes dimmed to a somber black. She should have taken the change in him as a hint to drop the subject but she refused. She could almost feel goose flesh running up her arms at the ice-cold silence that ensued but she leaned forward anyway.

"What happened to her?" She spoke lowly.

"You've heard the story, haven't you?" He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest tensely.

"I have but… no one knows more about the gypsy people than you," She lowered her gaze to her lap disappointedly, "I guess I just wanted to know if you knew something that no one else did."

Clopin studied Esmeralda's face before releasing a heavy sigh, "Alright…."

Her eyes shot upward as he leaned forward once more. Clopin began to speak in a low, hushed voice.

"I was there the night she went missing."

Esmeralda's eyes widened, her interest piqued greatly. She leaned in closer, the crystal ball resting between them.

"She was… a lovely young girl," A sad smile graced Clopin's face as she spoke, "Vibrant, warm, friendly, outgoing… Her parents loved her dearly. But they were also fiercely protective. She was forbidden from ever leaving the Court of Miracles."

"Why?" Esmeralda frowned confusedly.

"You see… She wasn't a gypsy by birth," His voice seemed to dull down to a strained whisper, "She was French, the daughter of a soldier. She was taken from her family by two gypsies who always wanted a child but could never conceive. They knew that if she was ever seen outside of the Court of Miracles, they'd be found out and not only lose their only chance of a family but be executed. Our people weren't very happy either at the risk they took in exposing our hideout. They were nearly hung by their own people."

Esmeralda swallowed, her mouth suddenly becoming dry. But Clopin didn't stop there.

"The only reason they weren't is because a deal as made; she was to never leave the Court of Miracles under any circumstances. She was kept hidden for ten years. She begged her parents to let her attend the Festival of Fools but they wouldn't allow it," His eyes became glossy with sorrow, "There was a young man… Heavens, did he pity her... He offered to sneak her out to attend the festival and so they did. A new world had been opened to her but she would soon learn that the world could be just as cruel as it was great… They were heading back to the Court of Miracles when it happened."

"What happened…?" She questioned almost hesitantly, knowing there was no happy ending to this story.

"Her parents were stopped by soldiers; harassed, questioned and arrested solely for being gypsies. He tried to shield her from the sight but she had seen it. The soldiers killed her parents before her very eyes."

"That's terrible!" Esmeralda gasped, never having heard this part of the story.

"It doesn't end there," He warned somberly, "She was consumed by anger… more like possessed by it. She killed the soldiers that murdered her parents. After that night, she was never seen again."

"Never?" Esmeralda frowned, "What of the man?"

"He never told anyone what really happened that night," He stared hard at Esmeralda, "Except for now."

Her eyes widened greatly as she stared at him. She clasped her shaking hands against her chest, swallowing her spit as she struggled to speak clearly.

"Clopin… I think… I think she's alive."

He merely stared at her darkly, unnerving the gypsy who was so unused to seeing him so tense and serious.

"Esmeralda," He began forebodingly, "Don't go looking for things that are bound to bring you trouble."

"But-"

"I believe it's time for the next person," He beckoned a gypsy who had peeked into the tent.

Esmeralda pursed her lips frustratingly, offering a soft thank you to Clopin before retreating hastily.

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 **Author's Note:**

Thank you for your kind reviews!

Stayed tuned for the next chapter. Remember, chapters are uploaded every Sunday!

3

~ Laruto

*Spirits = Unsweetened, distilled, alcoholic beverages (most commonly vodka and whiskey)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world."

 _Ephesians 5:18_

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Safira awoke to the sound of the bells, beckoning the citizens of Paris to the early morning sermon. She lay in bed for a moment, hypnotized by their call before she stood and began to ready herself for church. Knowing she would disrupt the service with a late presence if she waited to bid Quasimodo good morning, she rushed herself and began to descend down into the cathedral.

Safira made it to the bottom of the steps, the calm mumbling of people's prayers flowing into her ears. She immediately spotted Phoebus standing against one of the stone pillars in the very back of the church, caught by surprise at the other's presence. She quietly walked in his direction. Phoebus, having seen her from the corner of his eye, stared ahead as he listened to the archdeacon's readings.

She stood beside him, leaning against his arm as she crossed her own against her chest and stared ahead; anyone looking at these two would assume Safira was Phoebus' younger brother in the manner in which they stood together. Phoebus looked down at the shorter soldier with a light smirk, affectionate warmth radiating from his brown eyes.

They stood in silence until the archdeacon finished the service. Phoebus waited until the majority of people left the church before addressing Safira.

"Lovely service, wasn't it?"

"Indeed," She smirked up at the captain, "It's an even lovelier day outside."

His expression tensed immediately. Even right after a service and inside a church, Safira had no qualms about irritating him and bringing up the age-old argument about her staying inside the cathedral.

"Don't even start," He warned lowly, "I'm in a perfectly good mood… Don't spoil it."

Before she could retort, she stopped when she heard a voice that forced her face to pale. Frollo's deep voice echoed through the cathedral as he began to eagerly approach them.

"Captain Phoebus, how nice to see you in church," Frollo spoke from behind Phoebus' back.

Phoebus tensed immediately, turning swiftly and shielding Safira with his back. Without realizing, she pressed herself against his armored back, closing her eyes tightly for a moment as Phoebus attempted to distract Frollo.

"Good morning, sir," Phoebus greeted him politely, "Beautiful service, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid I missed it, I'm just arriving," Frollo's eyes glanced curiously over Phoebus' shoulder, "Was it just my imagination or did I see you with someone?"

It was no use pretending to act like she was invisible. Releasing Phoebus' back, she stepped from behind the captain, her face kept neutral despite her raging emotions. She stared up at the taller judge with cold, hard eyes. After seeing his eyes widen for a moment, she thought she had been recognized. Her heart was racing as she anticipated rage or shock. But to her immense surprise, she was offered a cold smile instead.

"Why hello there, young man," Frollo addressed Phoebus as he pat Safira's head as one would a child. "Friend of yours, Captain?"

She resisted the urge to smack his hand away and opted rolling her hands into painfully tight fists at her side.

"Just a regular church-goer," Phoebus smiled, feeling immensely uneasy as Frollo continued to study Safira's face intensely, "Right?"

"That's right, sir," Safira forced a tight smile, "Church. Every Sunday. Haven't missed a day my entire life."

"Ah, I see, well it's always a pleasure to meet the unknown people of Paris," Frollo dismissed himself with a nod, "Good day, gentlemen."

Safira and Phoebus watched as Frollo ascended to the bell tower. She waited until his footsteps could no longer be heard before turning towards Phoebus but he was already scolding her.

"You see why I want you to stay hidden?!" He spoke in a low, harsh whisper.

"Oh, relax!" She crossed her arms over her chest, "Jesus, you're starting to sound like the bell ringer."

He hadn't met the bell ringer but Phoebus had heard a great deal about him from Safira. From the sounds of him, he sounded just as concerned and worried for Safira's safety as Phoebus was. It was frustrating that she didn't seem to take the situation as seriously as they did.

"You know," Phoebus spoke slowly as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to keep calm, "We're doing our best to keep you safe. The least you can do to thank us is by listening to what we say."

Safira bit the inside of her cheek but she was as stubborn as she was temperamental. She would have normally bit out a snarky remark but seeing how stressed Phoebus looked at the moment, she swallowed her pride and nodded curtly.

"Okay, I will… I'll stay out of sight."

He looked up with surprise, not having expected her to give in so easily.

"You will?"

"Yes, I will… but not for long. I need to find a way out of Paris."

"I'll find a way for you," Phoebus assured her.

The blonde pat Safira's back roughly before exiting the cathedral. She exhaled lowly, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, squeezing the tension from her body. Unable to go to the bell tower, she opted for exploring the unknown areas of the cathedral until Frollo departed.

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Quasimodo had not been expecting his master's arrival quite so early. He was, however, grateful that Safira wasn't there. Frollo had begun his visit normally, asking Quasimodo how he was and sitting at the small table where they usually ate. Quasimodo felt at ease around his master for the first time since Safira arrived. Grabbing plates for their breakfast, Quasimodo left his master alone at the table.

Frollo took the time to glance casually around the bell tower until his eyes locked to what looked like a pile of metal. Black metal.

Quasimodo returned, distracting Frollo.

"Yes, well," Frollo cleared his throat, opening the bible he held in his hand, "Shall we recite some verses?"

"Yes, Master."

Quasimodo's reciting of the bible verses soon fell on deaf ears as Frollo brought his eyes back to the pile of metal. He narrowed his eyes enough to make out the pieces of what looked like armor. A soldier's armor.

 _No_ , he thought to himself, _Impossible._

It had been months since his soldiers had searched the cathedral high and low for the traitorous captain. He couldn't still be hiding in the church. Surely, he had merely left his armor after he escaped, knowing full well he would recognized if he wore it out of the cathedral. Yes, that had to be it.

"Master?"

Frollo blinked and looked at Quasimodo, forcing a tight smile. Frollo had not even noticed when Quasimodo finished reciting.

"Excellent, dear boy."

He shut the book and set it down, slowly standing and walking towards Quasimodo's crafting table. Quasimodo ate his breakfast quietly, completely oblivious to his master's current suspicions.

Frollo stood by the table in which the miniature city of Paris was so beautifully crafted. He scanned it with sharp eagle eyes, searching for something but he wasn't sure what until he caught sight of two unfamiliar figurines:

The first was a swordsman, completely garbed save for the two blue dotted eyes. He glanced at the second figurine and felt his blood run cold at the sight of the peasant boy who also had two dots of blue for eyes. He took in every single detail from the raggedy boots to the simple hat.

His mind was beginning to question everything, unraveling each piece of evidence he somehow overlooked the last couple of months; Losing the soldier at the cathedral, placing a guard at every door yet not having anyone suspicious leave the cathedral. He thought to the blue-eyed peasant boy he had just met who, strangely, he had never seen before despite his claims that he had been regularly coming to church every Sunday "all his life."

Frollo wove the pieces together in his mind, comparing the vision of the boy to his soldier's. Though he had never seen Captain Sacha's face, he clearly remembered his eyes; eyes so blue and intensely hollow that they couldn't possibly be shared by anyone else. The similarities in height and other small details seemed to start making an awful lot of sense.

Keeping his temper under control, Frollo grit his teeth at the realization that Captain Sacha Charbonneau was not only alive and well – and a child, no less – but being housed by his adoptive son. Frollo turned towards the ignorant hunchback, managing to mask his fury with cool, calm collectiveness.

 _Enjoy your freedom while you can, Sacha_.

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Safira kept her promise to Phoebus and made herself scarce. She hid on the south side of the cathedral until Frollo was gone before making her way back to the bell tower. Somehow, the thought of remaining in the bell tower all day didn't displease her as it had in the past. She enjoyed Quasimodo's presence and each day that passed, she spent more time inside the cathedral than outside.

Hearing her footsteps, Quasimodo looked up, his face breaking into a bright smile. She felt her stomach churn for some unknown reason as he began to approach her eagerly.

"Hey, are you ready to finish what you started?" He asked anxiously.

He was referring to the wooden figurine that she had given up on a while ago. She shrugged with a light smirk. Though she wasn't too keen on continuing, she found it impossible to say no when he looked at her with such expectancy. Regardless, there was nothing better to do; the sound of a light rain and lack of sunshine signaled to her that she couldn't go out even if she really wanted to.

"Sure, why the hell not?" She walked to the desk and sat down, grabbing the knife and unfinished figurine, "Twelfth time's the charm, right?"

Quasimodo chuckled as he moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. He shook his head with a smile when he noticed that, once again, she began to carve too hard and too much. Her personality was reflected in her wood-carving; she was impatient and rough around the edges. Most – if not all – of their sessions ended in her tossing everything onto the table and walking off muttering her frustrations incoherently yet she continued to try time and time again.

"Here, let me help you," He reached around her, placing his hands over hers, "Hold the knife like this."

Safira stiffened as she felt his chest press against her back. He was so close, she could feel his breath against her ear. She shuddered lowly yet somehow she didn't think it was due to the cool, rainy breeze that flowed through the bell tower.

"Remember, small pieces," He reminded her softly, his large hands gently guiding her through the carving.

Safira suddenly felt the need to swallow her spit as an inexplicable heat began to radiate from her neck up to her cheeks. Her heart skipped a beat as his large hands guided her with surprising gentleness. Alarmed at the unfamiliar emotion that overcame her, she released a loud clearing of her throat as she suddenly stood up, clumsily bringing the knife to Quasimodo's palm.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed, more from surprise than actual pain.

He jumped back away from her to look down at his palm as it began to bleed, the carving knife dropped to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" She looked at his hand wide-eyed.

"It's okay," He brushed it off, "It's not too bad."

He rushed to grab a piece of cloth and wrapped it tightly around his palm. He looked up at her now and noted the flushing of her face.

"Are you okay?" He frowned curiously.

"Yes," She nodded, bringing a hand to her forehead as if trying to search for a fever.

A sudden flash of lightning startled them both, the cloudy day darkening more so. Quasimodo, having grown to know Safira pretty well, noticed her discomfort immediately.

"You're not afraid of lightning too, are you?" He smiled lightly.

Safira wasn't afraid of lightning but she disliked it immensely as it reminded her of the dreadful night she lost her parents. She composed herself, throwing her shoulders back and staring at the hunchback warningly.

"Okay, one," She began haughtily, "I am not afraid of lightning. Two, there is 'too' because I am not afraid of anything."

Quasimodo raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile.

"I don't have to prove anything," She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Alright, suit yourself," Quasimodo shrugged before heading out to the balcony.

"Where are you going?" She frowned.

"I'm going to enjoy the rain. You can stay inside if you'd like."

She watched him hobble off onto the balcony, remaining where she was for only a moment before she begrudgingly followed him. She felt sprinkling of light rain on her face, her eyes glued to Quasimodo. He hopped onto a ledge and walked across the long neck of a gargoyle before sitting on the edge, his leg dangling. He hadn't even used the vertical pillars that connected to the rest of the architecture to balance himself as he walked.

Her eyes widened at his recklessness, her stomach dropping at the terrifying sight of his actions.

"Get off from there, you dolt!"

Quasimodo merely laughed in response, looking over his shoulder and waving her over.

"Come on!"

"No, now get off."

"Relax," He shook his head, standing to face her, "I've done this a thousand times. Come on, you're going to miss it."

Safira was beginning to feel anxious at the sight of him standing over the gargoyle's head, fearing that at any moment he would lose his balance and fall. She felt relief when he began to walk towards her only to have him grab her wrists and pull her towards him. She pulled back, her eyes widening.

"No!" She cried out, yanking him towards her but he was much stronger than she. He managed to drag her onto the ledge, forcing her to take a couple of steps until she was at the base of the gargoyle's stretched neck.

"Come on!" He urged her, "If you keep pulling away then we'll both fall."

She stopped immediately, her eyes never leaving his face. She was afraid and it finally showed. Quasimodo was fascinated at the sight of her in that moment; he had never seen the other look so… human. He took in the dilating of her pupils and the parting of her lips as he continued to pull her forward.

She gripped his hands before lowly speaking, "Don't make me do this."

He almost changed his mind when he saw how frightened she truly was. Almost. As he squeezed the other's small hands, he offered a reassuring smile.

"I know you can do it."

Safira licked her dry lips, her breath coming in short and quiet gasps. The rain was beginning to grow heavier. She was rooted to the spot, ready to pull away at the slightest movement he made.

"Just like before," Quasimodo reminded her, "I'll take a step back and you take a step forward. The trick is not to look down. Ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer before he took a step backwards. Safira listened to his advice and kept her eyes forward, locked onto his face. They were both drenched in rain, beads dropping from her hat and onto her face. She licked the rain off her lips instinctively. She took several steps forward before a flash of lightning brought her to another halt.

"Don't be afraid," He grinned, "We're almost there."

When they finally reached the pillars, Quasimodo allowed Safira to use them to stabilize herself. She was grateful for the architecture connected to the pillars that blocked the rain. Quasimodo walked ahead before holding out his hand.

"Come on."

"I've come this far," She shook her head, "I've proven you enough-"

"This isn't about proving it to me."

She stared at his hand before looking up into his eyes. His smile had never faltered. Kindness glistened in his eyes like two pools of gentle turquoise. She, strangely, felt less fearful when she looked upon his face.

"I'm not going to let you fall," He reminded her.

She released a heavy sigh of frustration before taking his hand and reluctantly letting go of the pillar. She held her breath as he pulled her against him so that her back pressed against his chest. She shuddered as he stood behind her, leaving her with the clear view of the murky view of Paris. She could hear the rainwater rushing from the gargoyle's open mouth. If she were to bend down at the moment, she could scoop up the water in her hands. They were both drenched in rain but Safira's fear distracted her from the cold.

"I'm going to let go of your arms."

Safira's eyes widened as Quasimodo sat down, his legs dangling off either side of the gargoyle's neck. She began to panic and reached desperately for him.

"Quasi-"

"Sit down," He urged her, grabbing a hold of her hands to pull her down.

She closed her eyes as she slowly curled into a ball, slowly extending one leg out and letting it hang. She inhaled and exhaled slowly and let the other leg down, her hands resting on the gargoyle's long neck in between her legs. Quasimodo let go of her with a chuckle.

"You did it."

She slowly opened her eyes, her breaths coming out in visible puffs of white as a cold breeze picked up. She hated to admit it but the gloomy sight of the city was strangely beautiful, especially when lighted by the silver whips of lightning. When she began to relax, that was when she started noticing how cold it was. As the rain poured down upon them, she began to lean back against the hunchback's chest in an effort to be warmed.

She was trembling from the cold to which Quasimodo grabbed her upper arms and began rubbing them roughly. She closed her eyes at the feel of his hands, suddenly not so cold anymore.

"Come on, let's get back inside," The hunchback pat the other's back in a friendly manner, bringing her out of her brief moment of warm serenity.

"Great…" Safira growled lowly, much to Quasimodo's amusement.

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When they walked back towards the balcony, Quasimodo had run inside with Safira chasing after him. He was laughing as she yelled hollow threats at him for having pressured her into doing what she did. Quasimodo ran up to the ladder that led to the bells, climbing them swiftly.

"Get back here!" She grabbed onto the ladder and climbed up after him.

She could hear his laughter as he ran across the wooden beam. She felt a smile threatening to tug at her lips as she reached the top and began to run after him. But the hunchback leapt from one beam to the next with surprising agility, forcing Safira to take a different path.

She finally caught up to him only to see him standing next to one of the bells, rope in hand. She narrowed her eyes at him as she approached him, punching his arm lightheartedly.

"I should hang you by this rope."

"You could," He agreed, "Or you could thank me."

"For what?" She scoffed in disbelief.

"Look at where you are now."

She stopped and realized that she had climbed up the ladder and ran across the wooden beams without a second thought. She looked down and felt only a bit uneasy. She brought her gaze back up to him as he handed her the rope.

"How about you ring the evening mass tonight?"

A smirk spread on her face as she rolled up her sleeves. Quasimodo watched as she rubbed her hands together and grabbed onto the rope. She grunted as she pulled with every bit of strength she had.

Nothing.

She growled and tugged once more, this time hanging off of the rope with her entire body weight but managed to only bring a dull fade of the bell ringing. Quasimodo chuckled before taking the rope from her and with almost no effort and tugged it. The mesmerizing ringing of the bells cried out to the worshippers of Paris and flooded Safira's ears almost painfully.

Safira stood back with hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him. She managed to look unimpressed though she was anything but. Her eyes grazed his tree-like arms, the sheer strength of them bringing a chill down her spine. Those same hands were the ones that had pinned her down effortlessly the first time they met, nearly breaking her. Yet, they were also the same hands that carved figurines delicately and very gently held her hands as she faced her fear of heights.

So mesmerized by his show of strength, she had been caught off guard when he reached for her. She gasped as his arm slid around her waist, his other hand holding onto the rope as he swung down. She wrapped her arms around his short neck, her eyes shut tightly until he landed on the bell tower floor with a loud thud.

She could feel his form shaking as he suppressed laughter. She felt her cheeks reddening as she released him immediately, shoving him none-too-gently.

"Show off," She mumbled embarrassedly, bringing her hand to the back of her neck.

He chuckled kindly as he noted the other's discomfiture. He found it oddly endearing.

"You should change," He suggested as he headed to his bedroom to change into dry clothes as well.

Safira waited until he closed his bedroom door before sauntering off to her corner. She removed her hat and shook off the excess water as she dried her long locks with the rag. She kept her eyes locked onto his door as she urgently removed her blouse and wrung it dry, water splashing onto the floor, before she swiftly put it back on.

When she heard the door to Quasimodo's bedroom start opening, she immediately placed her hat back on and tucked her hair underneath it. She continued to dry herself off casually as Quasimodo shuffled through the bell tower with clean, dry clothes.

He walked over to the small, hanging fireplace in the center of the tower and started a fire. She watched him as he spread pillows in front of it as well as a blanket. Quasimodo sat in front of the fire, warming his hands before he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Come sit down," Quasimodo called out to Safira.

Safira walked over slowly, almost hesitantly. She eventually slid over to sit beside him, sighing contently as the fire's warmth engulfed her freezing form.

"Here," Quasimodo grabbed a blanket and draped it over Safira, "You'll catch your death of a cold."

"Yes, mother," Safira scoffed, annoyed at the same flutter in her stomach she felt earlier when they were carving wood.

They sat in silence with only the crackling of the fire and the sound of the outside rain filling the quietness. It was neither uncomfortable nor awkward.

"What was it like?" Quasimodo suddenly asked, bringing Safira's eyes to him, "When you finally left?"

She didn't need to ask what he referred to. She thought back to the night Clopin had taken her to the Festival of Fools and ignored the small pang of sadness that came with the memories. She wondered if it would ever be easy to talk about.

"Well…" She began slowly, "It was… indescribable. I saw and felt things I could only ever dream of."

Quasimodo listened to her words carefully.

"After… what happened," He referred to the death of her parents, "… Did you regret leaving?"

He watched as she stared at the fire. The flames provided a heavenly glow to Safira, bringing out the femininity in her features that Quasimodo hadn't really noticed before.

"No," She finally answered in a low whisper, breaking him out of his scrutiny.

She turned to face him now, alarming him with the depth he suddenly saw in her usually hollow eyes. He wasn't sure if it was the fire or his mind playing tricks on him. Her eyes were like blue flames that seemed to bore into his soul. It was the same look in her eyes he had seen only once before when she apologized to him for her drunkenness. The same look that brought a breathtaking view into the person she insisted on keeping locked away.

"The night I left was when I stopped being blind," She continued lowly, "And I think you should do the same. You know… go out there."

Quasimodo blinked in surprise, "M-Me?"

"Yes," She nodded.

He began to shake his head, stuttering as if the very thought horrified him.

"I-I couldn't-"

"Quasimodo," She interrupted him firmly before slapping him with hard truth, "People will _not_ react the way you want them to. People will be scared, yes. Some people may be cruel. But that's who they are and it has nothing to do with you."

He looked at her, frowning confusedly. She shifted in her seat to face him completely, bringing her hand to her chest.

"When you look at me," Her voice softened, "Do you think I'm a-"

"No!" He exclaimed, refusing to let her finish, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I don't think that at all. You're good a-and honest!"

Safira clenched her jaw as she looked towards the fire, her hand dropping from her chest and onto her lap. Quasimodo watched her face carefully. She seemed to be thinking to herself, as if she were unsure about saying what she was going to say. Eventually, she exhaled slowly before turning her gaze back to him.

"Quasimodo, I'm not who you think I am."

"Look," He brought both hands to her shoulders now, "Whatever you did in the past has nothing to do with the person you are now."

"No," She shrugged off his grip, both the blanket and his hands sliding off of her, "I haven't been completely open about who I am."

"None of that matters to me," Quasimodo pressed on, offering a comforting smile to his friend.

"But-"

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly looking over Quasimodo's shoulder with great interest. Her features suddenly darkened. She slowly stood up, her eyes boring into the pile of armor that had been removed from her corner and thrown into another location.

"What?" Quasimodo frowned, noting the sudden change in her.

"How long has that been there?" She pointed at the armor.

"Oh, I don't know. I've been meaning to throw it out," He stood up as well.

She felt an inexplicable panic, her fists clenching and unclenching.

"Where does Frollo sit when he comes to visit you?" She asked suddenly, anxiety in her voice.

His brow furrowed at the sudden question. He looked towards the table not too far from where the pile of armor lay.

"U-Um, right over here," He walked over to the table where they usually had their lunch.

Safira walked over and sat in Frollo's spot shakily. From his point of view, the armor was in clear sight. It was impossible to miss it. With someone as observant as Frollo, it would surprise her if he had. She thought to when she had seen him earlier that morning. The brief surprise when he had first looked at her was suddenly important.

"He knows," She whispered, losing the color on her face.

Quasimodo followed her gaze and understood what she meant. He shook his head, in denial. He was ready to assure her that Frollo probably hadn't noticed. If Quasimodo knew Frollo the way he thought he did, the minister would have confronted Quasimodo right then and there if he had noticed it.

But just as he opened his mouth to tell Safira that, sounds of a racket coming from outside grabbed their attention. They both exchanged wide-eyes looks before rushing over to the balcony together.

Peering over it, they both watched in horror as Frollo pulled up with several soldiers, including Phoebus. Quasimodo brought his hands to his hair, gripping it with a gasp. Safira felt the wind being knocked out of her as she came to the awful realization that she was right. Frollo had seen the armor.

"They're here!" She choked out.

They had been found out. Soldiers were now invading the cathedral. Sanctuary meant nothing at this point to Safira.

Without a second thought, Quasimodo roughly grabbed Safira's wrist and began to run. He began to head towards the south tower steps but the sound of soldiers coming from that area forced him back. They could hear the clashing of metal as soldiers raced up towards the bell tower, the rain still pouring heavily. Safira felt a rush of dread fill her veins as Quasimodo scooped her up in his arms and began to run towards the balcony.

"Hang on," He slid her onto his back as a gorilla would its young.

She clung to him with a choking gasp as he hopped off the ledge and began to climb down the cathedral. With the rain pouring down from the night sky, she could see very little. Grunts and gasps would escape Safira as he made sudden and terrifying jumps and movements. She clung to his, shuddering from the rain's cold, unable to keep her eyes open much longer. She opened them when he made a final jump, reaching the bottom of a religious statue.

Safira was trembling by the time Quasimodo knelt down, allowing her to slide off his back slowly. She sat down on the ledge, her legs dangling from it. She was ready to hop off but she hesitated. She brought her eyes to the anxious man, unable to jump.

"Go," Quasimodo spoke urgently, staring at her expectantly but she was rooted to the spot.

She only stared at him with an expression he was unfamiliar with. He looked upwards to ensure no soldiers were peering down at them from above. He turned back to look at her and whispered harshly.

"What are you waiting for?! Go!"

Safira grit her teeth, rolling and unrolling her hands into fists as she seemed to be struggling with something internally. Quasimodo stared at her incredulity.

"What are you waiting-"

He was cut off as his shirt was gripped by Safira's small fists, pulling him into a fierce embrace. She closed her eyes, hugging him tightly as if she were afraid he would disappear any moment. Quasimodo's eyes widened at the sudden hold, stiffening tensely. When he stopped to think, he realized this could quite possibly be the last time he saw her again.

The hunchback closed his eyes and returned her hug with a firm one of this own. The adrenaline rush was wearing out, a hollow pit suddenly developing in his stomach. Safira shuddered lowly at the feel of his strong arms wrapped tightly around her middle, feeling a contentment she hadn't felt in so long. She turned her face towards his neck, clutching him so tightly.

Why was it so difficult to let go?

"Thank you," Safira finally whispered softly against him.

Before he could say anything else, she tore herself away from him and hopped down onto the ground, sprinting away from the cathedral. Quasimodo watched with a heavy heart as his only friend ran and disappeared into the rain.

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 **Author's Note:**

I am continuously amazed and humbled by your wonderful reviews.

I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter.

~ Laruto


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

 _1 Corinthians 13:13_

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The following couple of weeks had been a nightmare for Safira. If she was lucky, the kind and poor people of Paris would offer their homes for a night or two in exchange for nothing, unknowing of her identity. But for the most part, Safira had taken to hiding in alleys and stealing food straight from carts to survive.

Even now, she sat against a wall in a dark alley in the slums of Paris; her stomach grumbled as she hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees as her hunger brought a wave of dizziness. She was at her wits end. Starving, hopeless and homeless, she was tempted every day to turn herself into the authorities. But the thought of giving into Frollo… she would rather die on the streets than to die by his order.

The only thing that kept her mind off of her misery was thinking of the hunchback who had housed her for so long. She hoped he wasn't in too much trouble for what he did. She thought of him constantly. More so, she thought of how she had been faced with having to say goodbye and having reacted the way she did.

She felt her stomach flutter every time she thought of how she had violently embraced him, catching the poor man off guard. She had been faced with possibly never seeing him again and never in her life had she thought it would affect her as much as it did.

 _Damn you, Frollo…_ She cursed the judge heatedly.

At the moment she was waiting for Phoebus. She had managed to have a message sent to him on her behalf by a beggar who had been promised payment. Of course, she couldn't pay him and had relied on the possibility that Phoebus would. In her message, she cryptically reminded him of the escape out of Paris he had promised her and hoped she would get the news she was looking for. The longer she waited, the more she was beginning to doubt Phoebus got her message until the sound of footsteps startled her out of her thoughts.

She straightened her back and glanced curiously at the person walking in her direction, clumsily standing to her feet as she observed the person who kept their body and face hidden through a hooded robe. The figure pulled their hood back, bringing a great sense of relief to her when she looked upon Phoebus' handsome face. By the look on his face, he didn't seem to have good news.

"Well?" She looked at him expectantly.

"There's a man who ferries gypsies into the city," He began, "He would be willing to take you out."

"But?"

"He's asking for a hundred pieces of silver."

"What?!" She exclaimed loudly.

Phoebus brought his finger to his lips, rushing over to her frantically.

"Keep it down!" He whispered lowly.

"Why is he charging so much?!" She stared at Phoebus aghast.

"The risk is too great for him," Phoebus elaborated, "You're not only a gypsy but a fugitive. Don't you have anything? Anything of value that you could give him?"

Safira brought her thumb to her lips, biting at the nail anxiously. She thought for a moment before slapping her palm onto her forehead.

"Yes!" She growled lowly, "But it's in the cathedral. I left it there when I escaped."

"Damn!" Phoebus cursed.

"When is he leaving the city?"

"Tomorrow night," Phoebus's eyes lit up as he suddenly realized, "The festival is tomorrow, and everyone will be at the square."

"I can sneak in behind the cathedral," She grasped hopefully, "I'll wait for you in there until after the festival is over."

"That's our best bet right now."

They both knew how dangerous the risk was but it was their only hope to get her to safety.

"Here," Phoebus pulled out a small dagger, "Take this. Just in case."

She took the dagger slowly, looking down at it. It was no sword but she felt a sense of mild security having it. She looked up to thank Phoebus but he was already out of the alleyway.

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Quasimodo sat tensely, robotically reciting his alphabet with Frollo. Since the night his friend left, Quasimodo knew nothing but worry and distress. He was even unable to focus on Frollo at the moment.

"You seem distracted, my boy," Frollo commented calmly as Quasimodo continued to make mistakes.

"O-Oh, no, Master, I'm just… tired."

"Very well," Frollo nodded, accepting his answer, "You should get some rest."

"Yes, Master."

Bidding each other good night, Quasimodo felt an unusual sense of loneliness at his master's departure. He had grown so accustomed to Safira's company. The silence that followed in place of her humorous dry remarks and humor filled the bell tower with such gloominess. He wondered if he would ever see his friend again. Quasimodo had been left with nothing but her silver necklace that had been forgotten in her hurry to escape.

That night replayed in his head repeatedly. When Quasimodo had climbed up the cathedral and back to the bell tower, he immediately rushed to the pile of armor and in his panic, ran back to the balcony and tossed it over the edge.

He had done so just in time. The soldiers had entered and began to search the bell tower frantically, nearly trashing it. They continued until every corner of the bell tower had been searched. They had even gone as far as to climb the wooden beams and peak under the bells. Several other soldiers were searching the balconies. There was only one that didn't seem too eager to find anything.

When Phoebus made eye contact with Quasimodo, the hunchback hastily looked away and began to hobble off as casually as he could. With the other soldiers distracted, Phoebus took the opportunity to question him.

"Excuse me," Phoebus' deep voice called out to Quasimodo.

Phoebus frowned when the other picked up his pace instead of stopping. He walked briskly to catch up with him, moving to stand in front of him. He was met with a now irate man.

"What do you want?" Quasimodo snapped, glaring up at him.

"I have a couple of questions regarding a fugitive that we believe is being kept here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Quasimodo shoved past him.

Phoebus grabbed Quasimodo's shoulder and forced him back, his patience wearing thin. He looked over his shoulders to ensure no one was within hearing distance before turning back to the hunchback.

"I need to know he's safe!" Phoebus whispered harshly.

Quasimodo frowned up at him, suspicious. He said nothing. Phoebus could sense the other's hesitation and released him slowly. As he looked into those untrusting eyes, he knew he wasn't going to get anything out of him.

"Very well…" Phoebus sighed dejectedly, walking away from Quasimodo as he rubbed his neck.

Quasimodo watched him walk for a moment before he blurted out the following words.

"He's gone."

Phoebus froze and turned back to face him, "Gone where?"

"I don't know," Quasimodo answered honestly.

"He spoke of no family or friends?"

"No," He shook his head solemnly, "He had no one."

Phoebus chewed the inside of his cheeks frustratingly. Where could she possibly have gone?

"Very well, thank you," Phoebus nodded curtly, turning to walk away.

He managed to take a couple of steps before looking over his shoulder at the nervous redhead.

"Thank you, by the way?"

"For what?" He frowned confusedly.

"For being a good friend to him."

Quasimodo blinked in surprise as Phoebus walked away from him. He heard the captain bark an order to have the soldiers retreat, leaving him alone in the bell tower. As Phoebus led the men out of the cathedral, Frollo was waiting outside for them expectantly. The look of confusion was evident on Frollo's face when they came out empty-handed.

"I'm sorry, sir," Phoebus approached him, "But there was no one else in the bell tower."

"That's impossible!" Frollo exclaimed, "What about the armor? The sword?"

"There was nothing in the bell tower," Phoebus repeated himself.

"You're simply not looking hard enough!" Frollo barked before entering the bell tower himself.

Phoebus looked back and shook his head, gritting his teeth as he watched the minister storm in. He had to find Safira before Frollo did. As Phoebus pondered how he would find her, Frollo was charging up to the bell tower and found Quasimodo picking up after the mess the soldiers had made in their attempt to find Safira.

"Where is the boy?!" Frollo demanded, startling Quasimodo into dropping the items he was holding.

"W-What boy?" Quasimodo looked up and put on the best confused face he could muster.

Quasimodo watched as Frollo's face suddenly calmed. The minister cleared his throat, composing himself.

"Quasimodo," Frollo lowered his voice considerably, "I will not punish you – or even blame you – for keeping him hidden here. I understand your safety was probably threatened if you hadn't agreed to aid him. Just tell me where he is."

"Master… there is no one here-"

Frollo slammed his fist onto the nearest table, bringing a frightened jump out of Quasimodo. He had never seen his master so upset and it was truly terrifying.

"You tell me where he is right now or-"

"Or what, Frollo?" The archdeacon appeared as if from nowhere.

Frollo looked towards him, his face twisted in fury. The archdeacon stared hard into Frollo's pitch-black eyes, a knowingness behind the other's holy eyes. He began to scold Frollo, his tone patient but firm.

"First, your soldiers come in here… Now you barge in here like a mad man and disturb the peace and sanctity of the church."

"There is a fugitive being hidden here," Frollo approached him, "A dangerous one! Is that the kind of man you offer sanctuary?"

"There is no one in this church that is in need of sanctuary," The archdeacon spoke coolly, technically speaking the truth as Safira was now gone, "But if there was, it would be a disgrace to the church to-"

Frollo didn't stay to listen to the rest and instead rushed out of the bell tower furiously. Quasimodo's heart was pounding. Father Ezekiel looked towards Quasimodo with sympathetic eyes.

"Don't worry, my boy," He approached him and placed a sympathetic hand on Quasimodo's shoulder, "Frollo will not cause you harm."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Quasimodo sat down, deep worry evident on his face.

"He is in God's hands now. Let us pray for his safety."

With a final squeeze to his shoulder, the archdeacon departed the bell tower, leaving Quasimodo to his troubled thoughts. He closed his eyes and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life. With his hands clasped tightly, he pressed them against his forehead.

"God, please watch over him…"

Though Quasimodo didn't know it, Safira was uttering the same prayer for him.

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 **Author's Note:**

Thank you once again for the wonderful reviews.

I love and appreciate you all; you truly humble me.

~ Laruto


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

" _The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?_ "

Psalm 118:6

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Clothed in a raggedy cloak with a cane in hand, Safira peered through her hood carefully. She sat near the cathedral, a hat placed upside down in front of her as a few kind people threw coins in for whom they thought was an old beggar. She was waiting patiently for the opportunity to enter the cathedral.

She watched as people put streamers and decorations all around the city in preparation. She would glance up every now and then towards the cathedral hoping to catch a glimpse of Quasimodo but had yet to see any sign of him. Safira found that she was actually glad she left the necklace behind. It gave her the opportunity to say goodbye to Quasimodo properly. But any thoughts of the bell ringer would fade as the square more and more populated.

She continued to sit, keeping her head bowed as people walked past her, several careless people kicking her. The amount of people present meant it was nearly time for the grand opening of the festival. She awaited the sound of the music before making her first move. She stood and began to walk through the excited crowd but found it would be difficult to get through.

 _So much for respecting the elderly_ , she thought to herself, annoyed.

Every move she tried to make, someone was either blocking her or refusing to let her pass in fear of losing their spot. There was even a wall of people in front of the cathedral, almost as if they were guarding it. She was tempted to start running and pushing people out of her way but the sound of Frollo's carriage pulling up reminded her to stay patient.

She caught a glimpse of Phoebus who was scanning the crowd intently, no doubt trying to look for Safira. It eased her nerves to know that even Phoebus looked past her. She continued to move through the performers and enthusiastic people of Paris.

The sound of a male's voice, no doubt a gypsy, sang an introduction to one of their main performers. Esmeralda, as the man had stated, was indeed the finest girl in France – which was lucky for Safira because with all eyes on the dancing gypsy, she was able to make haste towards the cathedral.

As she got closer to the cathedral, the crowning of the King of Fools was being announced. Boos could be heard with every step Safira took as each contestant was eliminated… all but one. Gasps of horror replaced the booing. People began to cry out in revulsion. Safira paid no mind until she heard the terrified exclamations from the townsfolk.

"That's no mask!"

"It's his face!"

"He's hideous!"

"It's the bell ringer from _Notre Dame_!"

She froze.

As she turned swiftly to the stage, her eyes widened at the sight of Quasimodo standing timidly between Esmeralda and the male gypsy, covering his disfigured face in shame. Safira swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly dry, fearing the worst. Even when the gypsy king managed to turn the negative into a positive and the crowd suddenly rejoiced at the crowning of their new fool, Safira was unable to feel any relief.

Her eyes were glued onto him. He looked so happy but her wariness did not allow her to share in his happiness. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should start walking back towards the cathedral; surely she would see him when the festival was over. That was when the crowd suddenly turned on him.

One sight of the first tomato being thrown at him and Safira lost control.

"Hail to the King!" A man shouted mockingly, tossing yet another tomato towards the shocked hunchback.

Initially, Safira had been so horrified that she was paralyzed. When someone cruelly lassoed a rope onto his neck, she felt her body slowly moving, her mind clouded as she saw only red. Several lassos were now roped over the struggling man who had to be restrained by multiple people. Her breathing grew ragged in her fury as she drew her dagger out. She quickened her pace, now running and shoving through the crowd of cruel people.

Forgetting that she had a necklace to retrieve, a boat to catch out of the city, a new life to begin, Safira made her way towards her dear friend. Just as Safira hopped onto the stage, Esmeralda had done the same with the intention of coming to Quasimodo's aid. Esmeralda's eyes shot towards the cloaked figure, watching in utter horror as Safira yanked her cloak off and tossed it into the crowd who were now somberly quiet.

"S-Sacha…" Esmeralda choked, her face suddenly ten shades lighter as Safira stared at her coldly.

But no one was as shocked as the black-eyed judge who slowly stood from his seat. He stared at Safira, his eyes widening in disbelief. It was the peasant boy he had seen at church, the boy he suspected was The Black Soldier. As Safira looked at him now, there was no doubt in Frollo's mind that he had been correct. The sheer loathing within those haunting blue eyes spoke a thousand hateful words.

"You…" Frollo pointed at her, narrowing his eyes.

Quasimodo looked up at Safira with horrified eyes as she purposely exposed herself to the very man she had been avoiding persecution from. Phoebus was gripping the reins of his horse so tightly that his knuckles turned white underneath his gloves. He cursed her silently in his mind for she had put them both in a very difficult situation.

Safira, on the other hand, felt no fear as she kept her eyes locked onto Frollo's. She knelt down and furiously cut the ropes that held down Quasimodo, bringing an alarmed gasp from the crowd at the outright defiance. Safira's actions brought courage back to the feisty gypsy who turned to Frollo in absolute disgust.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people! You speak of justice but you are cruel to those most in need of your help!"

"Silence!"

Shocked murmurs and gasps ensued among the crowd as Safira grabbed the hunchback and helped him up roughly, brushing off the pieces of rope that remained. She grabbed the plush crown from his head furiously and shoved him behind her, shielding him from Frollo as she gripped the hat.

"Mark my words, gypsy," He threatened her darkly, "You and that traitorous coward shall pay for your insolence."

Safira stood back, listening as Esmeralda taunted the judge. Esmeralda turned to Safira and yanked the hat from her, tossing it towards Frollo. The bells jingled as it landed on his feet, the laughter from the crowd wore out whatever composure Frollo had left. The judge turned his attention to Phoebus now.

"Captain Phoebus, arrest them," Frollo demanded of him.

With a knot in his stomach, Phoebus snapped his fingers and like trained dogs, ten soldiers were now surrounding them. Safira and Esmeralda exchanged glances, a mutual understanding silently spoken between the two. Esmeralda slid a kerchief from within her blouse, feigning tears as she buried her face in it. With a sudden sneeze, an exploding puff of smoke replaced Esmeralda's presence, leaving Safira alone with the ten soldiers. Safira dropped her dagger, placing her hands up in surrender.

"Sacha, no…" Quasimodo gasped as two soldiers hopped off their horses and towards her, rope in hand.

Quasimodo watched helplessly as Safira was forcefully pushed to her knees, her hands brought behind her back. The two soldiers, as well as everyone else, looked up at the far-off sound of Esmeralda's jeering voice.

"Oh, boys…"

The crowd was laughing again as she bat her eyelashes playfully. The soldiers spread into two groups; five after Esmeralda and the others facing their former Captain.

It gave Safira the distraction she needed. She elbowed the distracted guard's in their faces, stunning them. One of the soldiers staggered back until he fell off the stage with a pained grunt. The second soldier regained his composure and lunged towards her but she swiftly dodged his attack, picking her dagger up from the ground as she did so. The soldier drew his sword angrily now, ready to attack. Swinging his sword towards her, Safira narrowly missed his attack as she rolled onto the ground. She sprang to her feet behind him, hopping onto his back.

Everyone watched in stunned horror as she drew her dagger to his neck, slitting his throat in one quick slice. She jumped off of him and watched as he dropped his sword, sputtering as he walked backwards and off the stage. Safira watched in satisfaction as his body lay motionless on the ground, using her blouse to wipe the blood off of her dagger before putting it away.

She turned towards the paralyzed hunchback, noting how he flinched when she did so as if he had been expecting a similar fate.

"Get down," She said simply.

Quasimodo bit his lower lip as he walked off the stage all too quickly. She reached down for the sword and turned towards the remaining four men. They exchanged nervous looks as Safira faced them, her eyebrow raised expectantly. Armor or no armor, in their eyes this was still famed Black Soldier whose heartless cruelty had become legend.

"What are you waiting for?!" Frollo shouted at them, "Bring him to me _alive_!"

The men were forced to shake off their apprehension, jumping off their horses and charging towards her at once. What would happen next would bring chills to everyone present.

Safira didn't hesitate to aim straight for the areas that brought deadly injury. People watched in morbid fascination as she moved swiftly, dodging their attacks expertly. In their efforts to keep her alive, she brought them instant death, blood splattering onto her and on the stage. The crowd began to run away from the stage, crying out in fear as Safira stabbed her sword through two of the men before swiftly slashing towards the throats of another, nearly beheading him.

With only one soldier left, she turned towards him, her blue gaze enough to bring him to a sudden halt. The soldier immediately gave in and dropped his sword, clumsily running off in the opposite direction as if he had been facing Death himself.

With all soldiers around Safira dead, Esmeralda brought the crowd and Frollo's attention back to herself. They watched as she hopped up on the roof of a stage with the help of two other performers. Swirling a cloak over her form, she disappeared into nothing. When Frollo turned back towards Safira, she was gone.

All that was left was a trembling Quasimodo who looked upon the bloodied bodies in shocked disbelief as a somber rain washed the food off of him.

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Phoebus had been given orders to find the two fugitives and deliver them to Frollo. Even seeing first-hand how truly dangerous Safira was, Frollo was mad enough to ask his soldiers to bring her back in one piece. As crazy a request as it was, Phoebus had thanked God for the mad man's irrational thinking. It meant that even if they found Safira, she wouldn't immediately be killed. As he patrolled the city in search of her, he felt a chill run down his spine at the memory of her violent display.

Phoebus had been utterly mesmerized. He had heard of the Black Soldier's legendary swordsmanship and it was everything people said it was. The skilled swordsman had managed to take down five soldiers with what seemed like little effort. What Safira lacked in physical strength, she made up for in truly gifted on-the-spot strategy and skill. But what had made Phoebus' skin break out into gooseflesh as he watched was not so much the ability he witnessed but the complete hesitation to murder. She was out for blood and blood she received. It was her way of reminding Frollo – and his men – that she would not go down easy.

As he guided Achilles through the city, he could see people attempting to clean the blood that stubbornly ingrained itself onto the streets right before the very eyes of Notre Dame. He doubted if anyone in the city would sleep peacefully after what they had witnessed. The distress of the city folk only made their attempts at finding her stronger; no one felt safe anymore.

Phoebus sighed heavily, rubbing the temple of his sudden throbbing head. He couldn't fathom why in the world his former co-captain would reveal herself after their fierce attempts to keep her safe. She was so close to leaving the city, to leaving Frollo and the chance to start a new life. She had completely lost her mind. And for what? For the hunchback?

Phoebus' thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound of bracelets jingling. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a cloaked figure; his heart skipped a beat when the figure dashed into the cathedral, unnoticed by anyone else.

 _Sacha?_

He ushered his horse towards the church. He hopped off of Achilles, tying his reins to a nearby post. He looked over his shoulder carefully to ensure no one was watching him before walking inside. As the doors closed behind him, his eyes immediately began to scan the cathedral. Expecting to see Safira, he was caught off guard when he instead was met with the sight of the radiant green-eyed gypsy.

He approached her quietly, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper.

"Excuse me."

Esmeralda whirled swiftly, her eyes narrowing hostilely at the sight of a soldier. Even with a suspicious glare sent his way, Phoebus found himself mesmerized at the vision of loveliness before him. She was even more beautiful up close. He thought back to Safira's flat out denial that she and the gypsy were romantically involved and immediately began to wonder if she had been telling the truth; only a eunuch would reject such a heavenly creature.

Shaking off the trance those eyes put him in, he cleared his throat.

"Permit me, I'm Phoebus," He introduced himself with a charming smile.

When she did nothing but stare at him, he raised an eyebrow.

"And… you are…?"

"Is this an interrogation?" She asked indifferently, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I believe it's called an introduction."

Her expression relaxed visibly, her arms slowly uncrossing and falling to her sides.

"You're not arresting me?"

"Not as long as you're in here," He motioned towards the church, "I can't."

"Huh…" She thought for a moment before placing a hand on her hip, "Well… if you're not going to arrest me, what do you want?"

"First, I'd settle for your name."

Now that her uneasiness was wearing off, she took the time to examine the handsome man. His golden hair framed his sun-kissed skin like a Grecian sun god. The flirtatious glint in his warm chocolate eyes brought a small smile to Esmeralda's lips as she offered her name.

"Esmeralda."

"Beautiful," His deep voice spoke huskily.

 _Sacha, you lucky bastard._

"And second?" She continued to smile, raising an eyebrow curiously.

At her question, his flirtatiousness dimmed to a sudden seriousness as he remembered why he had followed her in the first place. He lowered his voice once more to a hush.

"I need to know where Sacha is."

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. Phoebus noted how she was suddenly tense again. He was ready to assure her that he meant no harm but she responded quick enough.

"I don't know where he is," She spoke truthfully.

Phoebus brought a hand to the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he squeezed the tension out. He knew that even if the gypsy knew the truth, she would most likely not tell him. Esmeralda took in the genuine worry that overwhelmed the handsome man, taking pity on him.

"Neither of you are like the other soldiers," She admitted out loud without thinking.

Her words brought a small chuckle out of him. He brought his hand down from his neck with a light smile.

"Thank you."

"You were helping him," She stated simply.

"Not at first," He admitted, "We were both summoned from the wars to help with this apparent 'gypsy problem' of Frollo's. I only found out about Sacha's intentions when I saw him with you."

She listened to him carefully. If this man was indeed Sacha's friend, that meant he was probably an ally for the gypsies. Two men, one as dark as night and the other as light as day, sent from Heaven to guide her people.

"You really care for him, don't you?" Phoebus' voice broke her out of her thoughts, "He's lucky to have you."

She frowned confusedly before she realized what Phoebus meant. Her cheeks flushed as she thought back to the night she had thrown herself at Safira and wondered if that's what Phoebus had witnessed.

"We're not-" Esmeralda began to explain but the church doors slamming open brought their eyes to Frollo and his soldiers.

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After the festival, Quasimodo had rushed to the bell tower hurriedly, the tears never stopping as he changed into fresh clothing. He was overwhelmed with great disappointment and despair. Safira built up his courage to attend the festival only to see that Frollo had been right; the city wasn't ready nor would they ever be ready to accept Quasimodo into Parisian society.

He couldn't put any blame on her though. She had warned him just as much that people would not react the way he would hope they would. Part of him had at least hoped they wouldn't react in such an openly cruel manner. He was only further upset when he thought to what Safira had done.

The two gypsies had come to his aid but had done so with great sacrifice. Quasimodo knew what it meant for Safira to expose herself to Frollo and yet she did anyway; for him. The dark-skinned gypsy had also roused Frollo's anger and would surely be his next target. His heart only felt heavier at the thought of where they were now.

Quasimodo felt like nothing could bring him out of his current depression until a wondrous voice echoed through the cathedral and into the bell tower.

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"You, bell ringer, what are you doing down here?!"

Esmeralda looked up wide-eyed, watching as Quasimodo clumsily knocked down a tall candelabra in his haste to leave. Esmeralda reached out to him immediately.

"Wait!"

She began to run after him but he only seemed to run faster up the stairs. The chase continued all the way up to the bell tower. She hastily tried to apologize for having brought him up onto the stage in the first place but he gave her no chance. She froze halfway up the stairs when she was met with the unexpected sight of Quasimodo's home. She walked slowly through the bell tower, the sunset glowing beautifully against the colored shards of glass that hung from the ceiling right above his work table. She glanced towards the shy hunchback as he hid behind a pillar like a frightened child.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon," She began sincerely, her eyes turning back to glance around the bell tower, "I had no idea who you were. I never in my life would've pulled you… up on the… stage…"

Her words faded away as she stared at something on the floor. Quasimodo watched curiously, unsure of what she was looking at but she seemed utterly fascinated. Esmeralda felt her breath catch in her throat as she walked towards his craft table. Her eyes narrowed at the brief glimpse of what looked like a scarf peeking from underneath it. Lifting the tablecloth, she grabbed the coal-black scarf and turned to Quasimodo with wide eyes.

He looked at what she was holding, a low gasp escaping his lips. He had thrown out Safira's armor but must have missed the scarf – and apparently so did the soldiers who, in their haste to find her, must have overlooked or disregarded it.

"This… is where he's been staying?" Esmeralda approached Quasimodo, her eyes hopeful for any information he could give her.

"Y-Yes," He hesitated for only a moment before looking up into Esmeralda's kind eyes.

"Do you know where he is?" She pressed further.

There was something about the woman that assured Quasimodo she meant no harm to Safira and so he began to elaborate. He began his story from the beginning. He informed her of how he had found Safira in front of the cathedral, wounded and unconscious, after having saved the gypsy boy. He went into detail about her stay – her initial suspicion of him, their slow growing friendship and finally about her sudden departure upon being discovered. Esmeralda listened intently. With every word Quasimodo spoke, she could see the affection he held behind the deformed man's turquoise eyes for Safira. She began to piece together his story and paired it with her unusual behavior earlier today. It suddenly dawned on her why Safira had chosen to reveal herself at the festival.

"No wonder," She spoke quietly, sitting down on the nearest chair as she wrapped the black scarf around her wrists.

"W-What?"

She looked up at the confused man, offering a gentle smile.

"Why he came to the stage to help you."

Quasimodo offered a small smile of his own.

"He's… my best friend."

Esmeralda eyed Quasimodo and felt her heart melt. Both this deformed man and the soldier who befriended him were surprising people. Both were graced with an intimidating appearance yet their souls were that of God; it was no wonder such a strong friendship grew between them. Her admiration of the Black Soldier was only fueled in knowing of his kindness to this poor creature, momentarily forgetting about her crazy theory that he might be the missing blue-eyed gypsy girl.

"Do you think he'll come back here?" She wondered.

"I don't know," Quasimodo sighed as he sat across Esmeralda, "I just hope he's alright."

Esmeralda leaned forward, placing a hand gently over his. He looked up at her, surprised that she had done so without so much as a shudder.

"He's more than capable of handling himself."

"I saw that," Quasimodo ignored the fluttering in his stomach.

Esmeralda and Quasimodo sat in silence as they both remembered the brutal execution of Frollo's soldiers by Safira's hands. Neither had ever seen for themselves what Safira was capable of until that moment. It both frightened them and brought them relief.

At the obvious worry Quasimodo was in, Esmeralda thought it best to change the subject. Sliding her hand away from his, she reached for a wooden figurine.

"Did you make all these things yourself?"

Safira was temporarily forgotten as the hunchback basked in the presence of the exotic beauty.

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 **Author's Note:**

I hope this makes up for the previously short chapter!

Thank you to my loyal readers for staying with Safira and Quasimodo on their journey.

~ Laruto


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

" _Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes."_

Proverbs: 6:25

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Phoebus walked through the cathedral in search of Esmeralda. He was anxious to deliver a status report on Safira's whereabouts – that and he was eager to be in her illustrious presence once more. He rushed upstairs to the bell tower but found no sign of either the hunchback or the gypsy. He walked outside, his eyes skimming the balcony. When he saw no one, he was ready to walk back inside until he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of Quasimodo climbing up the cathedral. With a smile, he walked towards him and grabbed his hand to help him up. Feeling himself being pulled up, Quasimodo looked up in alarm and into Phoebus' kind face.

"Hi there," He greeted the startled hunchback, "I'm looking for the gypsy girl, have you seen her?"

Phoebus had been unprepared for the hostile change in the shy creature. With a threatening bark, Quasimodo hopped off the balcony and began to stomp towards the soldier. Phoebus' eyes widened as stepped backwards until he reached the stairs. Quasimodo charged towards him like a raging bull.

"Whoa, whoa, easy-"

"No soldiers!" Quasimodo grabbed a torch from the hallway, waving it towards the soldier dangerously, "Sanctuary! Get out!"

"Wait, all I wanted-"

"Go!" Quasimodo continued to charge down the stairs in an attempt to drive him out of the cathedral.

"I mean her no harm," Phoebus spoke calmly, hoping it would ease the other man.

It had the opposite effect. The hunchback release a growl of great frustration before exclaiming loudly.

"Go!" He began to wave the torch violently now, nearly singeing the other.

Phoebus drew out his sword, managing to pin the torch against the wall, disarming the hunchback. Quasimodo reached for his collar, bringing him up off the ground with a hateful glare. They stared at each other, challenge in their eyes.

"You tell her from me," Phoebus began seriously, "I didn't mean to trap her here. It was the only way I could save her life."

Quasimodo was thrown off for a moment, his expression relaxing for a mere second before he glared at him suspiciously.

"Will you tell her that?" Phoebus questioned.

Quasimodo continued to examine his face as if seeking truth.

"Will you?" He pressed impatiently.

"If you go. Now!"

"I'll go," Phoebus assured him, glancing down and then smirking down at him, "Now would you… put me down, please?"

Quasimodo slowly put him down, never taking his eyes off of him as he did so. Phoebus offered an amused smile before he descended. He took only a few steps before turning back.

"Oh, and one more thing," He sheathed his word to show he meant no harm, "He's safe."

Quasimodo thought for a moment before he realized he was speaking of his former roommate. Quasimodo's hostility faltered, replaced by concern. The change did not go unnoticed by Phoebus.

"H-He is?"

"For the time being," Phoebus assured him as he sheathed his sword.

"Where is he?"

"At the moment, I'm not sure," Phoebus sighed, "I had arranged to have him taken out of the city but after his… display… Frollo has all transportation sights surrounded."

"Take care of him," Quasimodo spoke lowly, his expression dark as if he were warning Phoebus of the consequences if he did not.

"I will," Phoebus smiled at him once more before departing.

Quasimodo calmed down only slightly. Esmeralda had left just a couple of minutes ago and already he was finding himself worried to death over not just one person but two. His heart skipped a beat at the memory of Esmeralda's words to him. She had been reading his palm when she looked up at him with those entrancing eyes.

" _I don't see any monster lines. Not a single one."_

She was the second person to assure him that he was anything but a monster. The minute Safira walked into his life, it had changed drastically. He had two friends now; more than he ever thought he would have. Before Esmeralda left, she promised him that she would return with news of Safira. He had insisted she not return for her own safety but a kiss to his cheek silenced him immediately.

When he walked back to the bell tower, he hopped onto the wooden beams to ring the evening mass. As the deep cries of the bell echoed through city, Safira listened from afar and felt a sense of comfort in knowing that as long as the bells continued to ring, Quasimodo was safe.

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Safira walked among the city in disguise, having stolen a peasant woman's ankle-length dress that had been hanging to dry outside her home. With soldiers tearing the city apart in search of whom they thought to be a young man, Safira opted for the drastically uncomfortable disguise. She put it on along with a head scarf that kept her face concealed. It worked like a charm; she was ignored by every single soldier she came across.

She made her way to the city's fountain not too far from the square where she and Phoebus agreed to meet. She sat down as the sun began to slowly set. He made his presence known eventually but remained on the other side of the fountain, Safira's back facing him. To anyone who walked by, the Captain of the Guards was merely letting his horse drink from the fountain while a peasant woman sat casually opposite of him. Frollo had eyes everywhere and they were wary of being seen together; even with the inconspicuous disguise she wore.

"Nice dress," Phoebus smirked amusedly, "It suits you."

"Bite me," She retorted lowly, waiting for a couple to pass them before asking, "What do you have?"

"She's in the cathedral," Phoebus responded as he pretended to tend to his horse, "She's safe, for now."

"And Quasimodo?"

"Who?"

Safira rolled her eyes within her scarf, "The hunchback, Phoebus."

"He's alright," Phoebus shook his head with a chuckle, "Nearly ripped my head off when he saw me."

Safira grunted lowly in response, grateful to hear they were both safe.

"What do we do now?" Phoebus asked her.

"I don't know," She replied honestly, "Unless Frollo suddenly decides to gets off our back, the most we can do is remain scarce. Until then, it's best if you and I make this our last meeting."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" She snapped impatiently, peering over her shoulder now.

"I promised your friend I'd take care of you."

Phoebus hopped onto his horse and trotted off, leaving a bemused Safira to her thoughts.

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Days passed by and Paris looked as if it had been descended into Hell. People were being questioned, interrogated, arrested and all in exchange for information regarding Safira and Esmeralda. Fortunately for them, the loyal gypsies of the city would rather be locked up in prison than take Frollo's bribe to turn in one of their own as well as the soldier who protected them. But unfortunately for those gypsies, they would only continue to be tortured in their efforts to keep them safe.

Safira walked through the city with a heavy heart. This had been the last thing she wanted for her people. She finally understood what it meant to be between a rock and a hard place. If she remained hidden, they would only continue to be subjected to Frollo's cruelty. But if she turned herself in, their efforts would all be for naught and their suffering would still not end. Her troubled thoughts would soon be momentarily forgotten.

 **Jingle. Jingle.**

When she heard the very faint sound of jewelry chiming, she looked up towards the maker of the noise. To the naked eye, the beggar who was heavily cloaked, cane in hand and white goatee peeking from his hood would be nothing more than a poor peasant man. But being a fellow master of disguise, Safira took a closer look at the otherwise normal-looking man. Safira scanned the others form and immediately noticed their feet; young, tan and a glimpse of a gold anklet confirmed her suspicions. She followed the disguised Esmeralda casually, irate that she had managed to slide her way out of sanctuary.

Now Safira understood why Phoebus would become so upset when she had refused remain safely inside. As much as she understood why Esmeralda had chosen to leave, she couldn't help but become angry as it meant she put herself in grave danger. Both being passionate, free-spirited women, being confined to stone walls was like pouring ice water over their fiery spirits.

Yet, here she was; outside of the cathedral and seemingly headed towards the miller's home where a crowd of people were gathered several feet away. Safira peered through her cloak and at what captured the crowd's attention. A low gasp escaped her lips at the sight of Frollo and his soldiers surrounding the kind miller's home who had been known to house travelers – including gypsies. She slid through the crowd to get a better view.

"He's never harmed anyone!" A woman exclaimed in disbelief.

"Frollo's gone mad…" Another man spoke lowly, aghast.

Safira watched intently as Frollo and Phoebus entered the miller's house and came out not even ten minutes later. Frollo grabbed a spear to block the door's entry, trapping the family inside. Words were exchanged between Phoebus and Frollo as the judge hopped onto his horse just before handing Phoebus a torch. She couldn't hear a thing, watching with a knotted stomach as Phoebus seemed to be arguing with Frollo. Phoebus responded by putting out the torch inside of a barrel of water, anger crossing his features. Whatever Frollo had asked of the captain, he had taken it upon himself to commit the act himself.

Gasps of horror from the crowd, including Safira's, could be heard as the miller's home was set aflame by the minister. Phoebus wasted no time in jumping through the glass window of the house, appearing moments later through the door he had kicked open with two children in hand. The miller and his wife followed suit just as the house collapsed completely.

 _Phoebus..._

Safira knew what this meant for him and felt her blood run cold. He was brought down to his knees, a soldier standing above him with a raised sword. She was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to prevent what was going to happen. She ended up not having to do a thing as Esmeralda took matters into her own hands. The gypsy grabbed a pebble from the ground, using her scarf to throw in Frollo's direction.

The pebble was flung against Frollo's horse, startling the animal into knocking off his master. The distraction was all Phoebus needed to escape. Climbing onto Frollo's horse, he rode off but soldiers were already chasing him, tens of arrows being shot towards him until one finally hit. Losing his consciousness, Phoebus fell off the horse and landed in the water below the bridge.

Safira immediately rushed to Esmeralda, taking the startled woman's hand.

"Let's go!"

She yanked her towards the bridge. Running hand-in-hand, they hid underneath it just in time to hear Frollo's commands:

"Find them! If you have to burn the city to the ground, so be it!"

They remained silent, both breathing heavily. They waited until the soldiers retreated before taking action. Safira dove in immediately with Esmeralda following right after. They dove into the water and both managed to pull the heavy man together, swimming desperately to land.

Esmeralda panted as they laid him down. She looked up to address Safira only to see her scarf slowly sliding off. She narrowed her eyes for a moment but Safira quickly wrapped it securely around her head, concealing what Esmeralda thought to be long, black hair.

"I know where we can take him," Safira's voice interrupted Esmeralda's scrutiny.

They stood up, both slinging one of his arms onto their shoulders and made haste towards the cathedral.

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"Quasi?"

Quasimodo looked up with wide eyes, for a moment having thought he heard Esmeralda's voice. When she called out for him again, he swiftly ran towards the sound of her voice. Looking upon her troubled face, he rushed to her. He embraced her with great relief, closing his eyes as he held her small form against him.

"Esmeralda, you're alright!"

She returned his embrace, pulling back to hold his hands almost pleadingly.

"You've done so much for me already, my friend, but I must ask for your help one more time."

"Yes, anything," He assured her eagerly.

As if on cue, Safira walked through the door with one of Phoebus' arms swung over her shoulder. She was visibly struggling, prompting Esmeralda to rush over and help. Quasimodo immediately recognized the soldier as Safira's friend and former co-captain. Esmeralda, unaware that he and Quasimodo had already met, began to clarify.

"This is Phoebus," Esmeralda explained to the shocked hunchback, "He's wounded and a fugitive like us. He can't go on much longer. Sacha said he'd be safe here. Please, can you hide him?"

Quasimodo had been staring at Safira, not having heard what Esmeralda said until they were both staring back at him expectantly. He snapped out of his daze and waved them over. Safira and Esmeralda walked and lay Phoebus down on the very spot Safira slept for months when she had been confined to the church. He began to stir just as his head hit the pillow.

"Esmeralda?" He questioned, the blurry vision of the gypsy woman being the first he saw.

"Shh," She hushed him gently, kneeling down beside him.

"You'll stay here until you're strong enough to move," Safira spoke as she stood behind Esmeralda, drawing his attention to her.

Esmeralda brought out a bag of wine, removing the cork with her teeth. Phoebus, despite his pain, managed to smile.

"Great, I could use a drink," He jested before Esmeralda poured the wine over his wound, bringing a cry of pain from the captain.

"That family owes you their lives," Esmeralda spoke softly as she began to sew his wound, "You're either the single bravest soldier I've met… or the craziest."

"I believe the title of craziest goes to Sacha," Phoebus looked past Esmeralda and at Safira, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Hardy har har," She grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Quasimodo looked back and forth between Phoebus and Safira, unable to help but notice that she had yet to acknowledge him. He scanned her form and noted the damp dress that clung to her. Quasimodo, being too naïve and ignorant, didn't notice the feminine curves beneath her soaked clothes. Phoebus was too distracted by his pain to notice, otherwise he would have recognized her womanly body immediately.

"I'm going to keep an eye out," Safira announced to them before walking out towards the balcony.

Quasimodo looked at her as she walked out. He stood pensively, initially hesitant to follow her.

"I-I better join him," Quasimodo spoke to Esmeralda and Phoebus before he hobbled after Safira, leaving the two alone in the bell tower.

Phoebus watched Esmeralda's face as she stitched his wound. The soft glow of the candlelight only enhanced her beauty. The flame reflected within those enchanting eyes, giving them a jewel-like sparkle. He noticed her brow furrowed as she slid her hand further into his shirt, a glint of gold catching her eye.

"What's this?"

He looked down and watched as she held the sun pendant that hung from his neck. The pendant itself had a crescent indentation on one half of the pendant as if it were missing a piece.

"It's a gift from my parents. I've had it since I was a kid."

"It's beautiful," She looked up at him now, "it's missing a piece."

She couldn't help but notice the slight somberness that entered his usually cheerful eyes as he looked down at the pendant in her hand.

"No," He smirked sadly, bringing his hand up to close over hers, "It's a two part necklace. The other half belongs to my sister."

"Your sister?" She frowned curiously, "She lives here in Paris?"

"Who knows?" He sighed, looking up into her eyes now, startling her with the intense emotion that pooled within them, "She's been missing for twenty years now."

Esmeralda froze.

"What do you mean missing?" She questioned carefully, her eyes boring into his.

"She was kidnapped," He elaborated, "Right out of our home. God, I must've been no more than five years old when it happened."

"That's… awful," She spoke slowly as her heart began to beat swiftly.

"Yes," He agreed, casting his eyes back down to their hands, "I never believed someone could die of a broken heart… until my father did."

Esmeralda squeezed his hand sympathetically. He continued to speak as if it were something he had been holding in for so long.

"After he died, I spent the rest of my life trying to find her. Of course, I never did. My father always told me that he would recognize her the moment he looked into her eyes."

"Why is that?"

"He said her eyes were 'unlike any blue you have ever seen'," He chuckled sadly as he quoted his father's words.

Esmeralda, on the other hand, felt no amusement. There was no denying it now.

Sacha was the missing blue-eyed gypsy.

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When Quasimodo walked out, he saw Safira leaning against the balcony, looking over the city of Paris.

"Hey," Quasimodo walked over to stand beside her, "Are you alright?"

"I'm peachy," Her voice was slightly bitter.

Quasimodo frowned, put off by the others cold behavior. What Quasimodo didn't know was that Safira could hardly look Quasimodo in the face. She was unable to shake off the look of dread on his face when he had watched her murder Frollo's soldiers. The way he had flinched when she turned towards him… If he hadn't thought her a monster before, she was certain he did now.

"How have you been?" She questioned suddenly as she peered down at the city.

"Worried sick about you," He admitted, bringing a jolt to her stomach for some unknown reason.

"Why?" She scoffed nonchalantly, "I can handle myself. You've seen what I can do."

"I have," He nodded slowly, studying her emotionless face, "It doesn't mean I still don't worry."

"A monster has no one to fear," She bit out tightly, walking away from him.

His frown deepened, now irritated. He began to follow her, hobbling alongside her.

"Why do you keep calling yourself that?" He questioned irately.

"Because it's true."

He grabbed her wrist at this point, forcing her to turn back and look at him. Her eyes widened as she finally looked into his eyes. She could see he was slowly becoming angry, an emotion that she was so unused to seeing on him.

"Why do you do that?" He demanded firmly.

"Do what?" She tried to yank her wrist from him but he held a steady grip.

"Push me away."

"I do no such thing," She avoided his gaze, "Now let me go!"

When she continued to try and pull away, he yanked her arm none too gently. She could feel his large hands now gripping her upper arms, a mere squeeze away from crushing her bones.

"All I want to do is be there for you," He spoke almost desperately, "Like you have been for me."

She looked at him neutrally yet her heart was racing as she took in his words. Her expression softened as his words began to dawn on her.

"You're... not afraid of me," She concluded out loud.

"Of course not," He let her go when he was sure she wouldn't run off again.

She looked at him almost disbelievingly before turning her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

"But what happened at the festival-"

"-Has only confirmed what I think about you is true; you're my friend. I'm just glad to see you're alive."

She didn't respond.

"Even if you're wearing a dress."

Despite every effort of hers, she felt a smile tugging at her lips. She turned towards him only to see a gentle hint of amusement on his face. Her smile slowly widened until a soft laugh escaped her lips, her cheeks dimpling. The act surprised Quasimodo greatly. Quasimodo didn't even know she had dimples; in fact, he had never seen her smile this wide before or even laugh. It had always been a very small, simple smile or a few grunted chuckles. It brought youth and softness to her usually tense face. It was alarming how feminine her face truly was.

"I never got to thank you," Quasimodo spoke gratefully, "You risked everything by doing what you did."

"I was only paying my debt," Safira insisted with a light shrug, looking away almost embarrassingly.

Quasimodo smiled gently as he studied her face, noting the slight flush on her cheeks.

They had both risked their safety and lives for each other and as a result, an unbreakable bond was formed between them. Originally what she had wanted was to leave Paris as soon as possible. Now, all Safira wanted to be the truest friend she could be to the bell ringer. But as she turned to look at him, she knew she couldn't do that if she lived a lie.

"Quasimodo," Safira began hesitantly, "There's something I need to confess."

She reached up for her scarf, gripping it. She wanted to slide it right off, to reveal to him the truth about who she really was. Her hand remained frozen on her scarf as she mustered the courage to pull it off.

"What is it?" He frowned curiously.

His question would go unanswered as Frollo's carriage pulled up to the cathedral, bringing their attention down over the edge of the balcony. Her confession was immediately forgotten. Quasimodo wasted no time and grabbed her wrist, yanking her back into the bell tower as he announced Frollo's arrival to Esmeralda.

"Frollo's coming! You must leave!"

Esmeralda stood up from where she sat with Phoebus, her eyes wide.

"Go down the south tower steps!" He instructed as he nearly shoved Safira towards Esmeralda.

The two fugitives were forced to make haste, leaving Quasimodo with an unconscious Phoebus.

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 **Author's Note:**

I hope you enjoyed this week's update!

Please excuse the large amount of dialogue that was pulled directly from the movie. I found it necessary to keep the story line going.

I am also happy to announce that I will now be updating twice a week. In addition to the Sunday updates, I will start updating on Wednesdays as well.

XOXO

~ Laruto


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

" _For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice."_

James 3:16

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Safira followed Esmeralda blindly out of the cathedral. There was no room for questions with Frollo hot on their trail. They snuck through the Parisian night in silence with only the sounds of their running feet and the jingling of Esmeralda's jewelry echoing through the empty streets. It wasn't until Esmeralda led them towards the graveyard that Safira stopped running.

It was as if Safira had been struck by lightning, bringing her to a complete and sudden halt. Esmeralda ran only a couple of steps ahead of her before she looked back confusedly. She paused as she took in Safira's expression; though her face remained neutral, she could see her already pale skin dull to a ghostly-white, her eyes darkening so much so that they appeared almost black in the moonlight.

"Come on, we're close to the-"

"I know where you're taking me and I am not going," Safira spoke coldly.

Esmeralda stared hard at her, her eyes running down Safira's form. The dress she wore, albeit simple, was unable to hide the unmistakable form of a woman's physique; the narrow waist and child-bearing hips... The only thing missing were the form of breasts which were no doubt banded back tightly. She looked back up to see Safira staring back at her as if challenging her to speak what was on her mind. Esmeralda accepted that challenge.

"You're her, aren't you?" Esmeralda confronted her, "You're the missing blue-eyed gypsy."

"What?" Safira questioned as if she had no idea what the other spoke of but her nervousness showed through her body language; she was tapping her foot and biting the insides of her cheeks.

"It all makes so much sense!" Esmeralda exclaimed excitedly.

"You're insane," Safira began to walk off but Esmeralda leapt forward and grabbed her head scarf, yanking it off.

Safira brought her hands to her hair, turning to face Esmeralda with wide eyes. Esmeralda gaped at her as ebony locks cascaded down her back. Though her suspicions had been unintentionally confirmed by Phoebus, it was still a shocking truth to bear witness to.

"Oh my God," Esmeralda dropped the scarf, bringing her hands to her mouth.

Anger fueled Safira and it showed on her face. She was almost ready to leap at her in attack.

"You meddling little-"

"You're alive!" Esmeralda interrupted her, still awestruck, "All this time, everyone thought you were dead but you're here!"

"Yes, alright?!" Safira grabbed the scarf from the ground, wrapping her head furiously, "I'm the famous blue-eyed gypsy, back from the dead!"

"You have to come," Esmeralda took her elbow, pulling her eagerly towards the entrance of the Court of Miracles, "Everyone will be so happy to see you! To know that you're the Black Soldier-"

"Enough!" Safira yanked her elbow back angrily, "I am not going back! I spent ten years trying to get out, I'm not going back to that… that _prison_!"

She spat the last word as if it were poison. Esmeralda blinked surprisingly before her expression slowly melted into that of pity.

"Is that it?" Esmeralda questioned gently, "You think that if you go back, you won't be able to come back out?"

Safira crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding Esmeralda's gaze.

Esmeralda couldn't even begin to fathom what was going through Safira's mind. As she looked upon the anxious woman, Clopin's story played in her mind. It made sense why she would associate the Court of Miracles as a negative place. She imagined a young Safira being faced with the traumatizing scene of her parent's violent death, how she had been robbed of her childhood far too early and being forced to grow up so suddenly and tragically. Every bit of her rough exterior was hiding what was really a frightened little girl who had been left helpless and alone.

"I won't let that happen," Esmeralda assured her, bringing her hand out in the hopes Safira would take it, "I will never let you be kept locked away again. I promise."

A tense moment of silence passed between them. Safira stared at the other's hand as if she were afraid she would burst into flames if she touched it. Her face portrayed the internal struggle she was having. She could either go back to the streets and risk being caught or she could go back to a safe place that held all the memories she yearned to forget.

"Trust me," Esmeralda asked her pleadingly, "As I have trusted you."

Safira closed her eyes, exhaling deeply before hesitantly taking Esmeralda's hand.

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Phoebus was startled awake at the sound of Frollo slamming his fist violently onto the table followed by his violent screams. Initially disorientated, Phoebus began to pant as he looked around wildly, finding himself underneath the very table Frollo had pounded on. His wide eyes peeked slightly under the tablecloth to see Frollo shaking Quasimodo by his collar as he continued to shout at the terrified bell ringer.

Phoebus' heart pounded at the sound of the confrontation, afraid that Frollo may be furious enough to cause real harm to Quasimodo. But as the conversation between the two went on, Frollo seemed to considerably calm down out of nowhere. The following words that came from Frollo would fill both Phoebus and Quasimodo's hearts with dread.

"I know where her hideout is," Frollo admitted darkly, "And tomorrow at dawn, I attack with a thousand men."

Phoebus' pacing heart echoed inside of his head as he tried to even his breathing. He waited until Frollo's footsteps could no longer be heard before he slid out from under the table, wincing in pain as the sudden movement reminded him of his injury. He groaned lowly in pain, bringing Quasimodo's eyes towards him.

"We have to find them before daybreak," He stood, observing the mess Frollo made warily, "If Frollo gets there first…"

Phoebus stopped mid-sentence as something shone in his eye, drawing his eyes to what was lying on the ground. Like a sign from above, the moonlight shone into the bell tower, reflecting against what looked like silver. With a curious frown, Phoebus knelt down slowly, drawn to it. His heart dropped to his stomach when he picked up the silver necklace. The crescent moon pendant shone brilliantly, still in the same condition it was twenty years ago. As he ran his thumb across it slowly, a vision of a five-year-old Phoebus peeking into his infant sister's crib flashed through his mind.

 _Selene._

"No…" Phoebus breathed out in a confused whisper, "It can't be…"

Everything around him was becoming hazy. Frollo, Quasimodo, Safira and even Esmeralda were forgotten as he gripped the moon pendant hard, squeezing it so hard that he nearly broke the skin.

"Phoebus…?" Quasimodo's voice shook him from his state of shock.

Phoebus stood shakily, turning to face Quasimodo. The hunchback frowned worriedly at the look on Phoebus' face; it was as if he had seen a spirit. Quasimodo was unprepared when Phoebus suddenly charged towards him, bringing the pendant up to his face almost accusingly.

"Where did you get this?" He questioned him anxiously.

"W-What?" Quasimodo had been thrown off by the sudden change in Phoebus.

Phoebus now gripped Quasimodo's shoulders rather roughly. His face and tone were that of restless desperation.

"This necklace!" Phoebus raised his voice, "Where did you find it?!"

Quasimodo firmly pushed Phoebus off of him with a deep frown.

"It belongs to Sacha. It's been here since he first left the cathedral."

Quasimodo studied Phoebus who looked as if he were trying to put something together in his head. He toyed with the necklace in one hand, bringing the other hand to his hair. Phoebus scratched his head roughly as he looked down at the pendant that unmistakably belonged to his long lost sister.

"That's impossible…" He whispered to himself, hundreds of questions running through his head.

How did Safira come across this necklace? Why would a man even be in possession of was obviously a woman's piece of jewelry? Didn't it make more sense to sell something so valuable rather than keep it? Did he know where Selene was? For the briefest of moments, Phoebus irrationally questioned if Safira had played a part in Selene's abduction but realized it was ludicrous. There was no way Safira could have been involved in Selene's disappearance for Safira was younger than Phoebus; she was probably around the age Selene would be at this moment if she was still alive.

"What's wrong?" Quasimodo frowned, noting how pale Phoebus had become.

"We have to go," He pocketed the necklace and began to walk towards the exit.

When he heard no footsteps following after him, he looked back. The hunchback remained standing in the same spot, a torn look on his face. Phoebus looked at him with a heavy frown.

"Are you coming with me?"

Quasimodo grit his teeth, hesitating. Clenching his fists, he finally released a heavy breath before he answered quietly.

"I can't…"

Phoebus faced him completely now, staring at him incredulity.

"I thought you were their friends."

"Frollo's my master, I can't disobey him again!" He stated firmly, turning his back to the soldier, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"They stood up for you!" He reminded him, outraged, "You got a funny way of showing gratitude."

When Quasimodo said nothing, he could almost feel Phoebus' death glare like knives being tossed against his back.

"Well I'm not just going to sit around and watch Frollo massacre innocent people! You do what you think is right."

Quasimodo stood alone in the bell tower with a crippling mixture of emotions running through him. His brotherly love for Sacha, his affection for Esmeralda, his jealousy towards Phoebus, his concern for the innocent gypsy folk, his fear of disobeying Frollo… It was like hearing ten voices in his head and not being sure which one to obey. But when guilt began to be the loudest voices in his head, he tried to rationalize his decision to stay.

"What am I supposed to do?!" He spoke to himself angrily, "Go out and rescue them from the jaws of death and the whole town will cheer like I'm some kind of a hero?!"

For some unknown reason, thoughts of the festival began to flood his head. The humiliation, the cruel taunts and jeers of the townsfolk and the terrible realization that everything his master had told him wasn't a lie. He had fooled himself into thinking he could be a normal person.

"… I'm tired of trying to be something that I'm not."

He closed his eyes, urging himself not to feel the culpability of abandoning his friends. He opened his eyes slowly as he brought his hand up, running a finger against the lines. One the day of the festival, the people of Paris had proven to him that he couldn't be a normal person. But his friends had done the opposite; around them, he was suddenly unaware of his deformities and more aware of his strengths.

" _No monster lines. Not a single one."_

" _I've seen my fair share of monsters. You're not one of them."_

Their words flooded his mind soothingly. They drowned out Frollo's voice until something inside of him realized he couldn't let them get hurt. He pulled out the necklace Esmeralda had given him from underneath his tunic, grasping it gently in his hands. His eyes scanned the woven band pensively before he turned towards his cloak. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed it and wrapped it around his form.

"I must be out of my mind..."

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As Phoebus exited the cathedral, Quasimodo popped out from above like a bat hanging from the ceiling.

"Phoebus!"

Phoebus cried out in alarm, bringing a hand to his chest. He felt an immediate relief when he looked up to see Quasimodo's disfigured face.

"Shh, I'm coming with you!" He whispered, hopping down from the cathedral.

"Glad you changed your mind," He smirked, "Do you know where they are?"

"No but Esmeralda said this would help us find her," He clarified as he handed Phoebus the knitted necklace.

They began to try and decode the necklace. After a few theories, Quasimodo finally realized that it was a map of the city. He tried to explain it to Phoebus but the soldier immediately disagreed, brushing off the idea. But after a heated argument, Phoebus gave into the notion that it was a map. They called for a truce and began to walk towards the graveyard in silence.

Upon reaching it, they headed for the headstone that bore a resemblance to the dot on the band. Phoebus grabbed one of the torches hanging off of the headstone. Quasimodo studied the headstone before lifting the stone coffin lid with ease, revealing a flight of stairs. They began to descend carefully, the eerie silence only making the sound of their footsteps seem louder.

The stairs eventually led them to what looked like catacombs. They walked through the ankle-deep waters warily. Quasimodo looked around confusedly.

"Is this the Court of Miracles?"

"I'm not sure," Phoebus frowned as he led the way, "I just hope they're _both_ here."

Phoebus had many questions for The Black Soldier.

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Safira had insisted she was not ready to come out to the world. It had been difficult enough to know one person knew, she wasn't ready to announce it to an entire crowd of gypsies. Esmeralda had taken pity on her – that and she was afraid the other would go running in the opposite direction – and initially had gone ahead to the Court of Miracles alone.

Safira waited in the shadows of the catacombs until Esmeralda brought her male gypsy clothing. She was more than eager to change, sliding out of her dress and slipping into the trousers, boots and blouse. She was brought a hat to which she rolled her hair up and tucked underneath. She was instantly relieved to be back in men's clothing.

When they began to walk towards the Court of Miracles, Safira felt her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed in an attempt to soothe her suddenly dry throat. As the sounds of the crowded hideout flooded her ears, she could faintly hear the sounds of a child's haunting laughter; her laughter. As if being sucked back in time, Esmeralda and the other gypsies disappeared as Safira was engulfed in a misty memory of the past.

 _Mommy! Daddy!_

Her eyes darted towards the black-haired ten year old girl who ran to her parents joyously. Safira felt her throat ball up as she looked upon Rubina and Sacha as they coddled their beloved daughter. The young Safira laughed as her father scooped her up in his arms, her blue eyes holding the sparkle that had died so long ago.

"Safira?" Esmeralda's voice brought her out of her spell.

Like a puff of smoke, the visions before her disappeared and returned to that of a concerned Esmeralda. Safira nodded to signal she had heard her, suddenly losing her voice. Esmeralda took her hand now, squeezing it tightly as she pulled her through the unsuspecting crowd of gypsies. It had taken some effort but Esmeralda managed to guide them both to her tent within the hideout unnoticed.

Safira immediately sat down on the nearest chair, her hands clasped as she rested her arms on her legs. She was bouncing one leg, clearly uncomfortable and anxious.

"Try to calm down," Esmeralda encouraged gently.

"How can I?" Safira sighed, rubbing her eyes roughly, "I'm here when I should be out there protecting my friends."

Esmeralda sat across Safira, taking her hands. Safira looked up into the other's strangely soothing eyes. She allowed her hands to be held despite her initial instinct to pull away.

"They will be alright," Esmeralda assured her, "All we can do now is wait."

"I've never been good at waiting," Safira hung her head, closing her eyes.

She was comforted by the feel of the other's soft hands. There was an air about Esmeralda, one that she had noticed the moment she first laid eyes on her; it was a nurturing, motherly aura that had forced Safira to do a double-take when she first entered the city and looked upon the dancing woman. With her eyes currently closed, she could almost feel her mother sitting before her.

Esmeralda took the time to take in Safira's face. Now that she looked at her with the knowledge that she was a woman, she could make out the softness of her features and wondered how no one had been able to it sooner. Maybe it was the presence Safira had – the intimidating glare, her impatient nature and her harsh abrasiveness. It was everything she needed to mask her gender.

Safira finally looked up to see Esmeralda's eyes studying her features carefully. She recognized that look and promptly raised her eyebrow.

"You're not going to kiss me again, are you?" Safira asked dryly.

The tension left as Esmeralda's burst of laughter flooded her ears.

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Quasimodo stood uselessly next to Phoebus, their mouths muffled with bandanas and ropes around their neck. The crazed gypsy king was more than ready to hang the two intruders, seeming to get some sick joy out of it. He desperately searched the crowd for any sign of Esmeralda but couldn't find her among the large crowd of booing gypsies. With Clopin's hands now gripping the lever, Quasimodo closed his eyes, ready for the floor underneath them to disappear. But it never did.

"Stop!"

Both he and Phoebus, as well as the rest of the gypsies, brought their eyes to Esmeralda. The two men felt relief fill their bodies. She immediately darted towards them and hopped onto the stage. She began to free them, all the while informing the gypsies of their loyalty to her. Safira remained hidden amongst the crowd, managing to go unnoticed as she pulled her hat as much as she could over her face.

Phoebus rushed to the front of the stage as soon as he was freed, his voice ringing loudly through the hideout.

"We came to warn you: Frollo's coming! He says he knows where you're hiding and he's attacking at dawn with a thousand men!"

Panic spread like wildfire amongst the gypsies as their belongings were quickly being gathered to relocate. Safira approached them eagerly now that the gypsies were distracted. She locked eyes with Phoebus who immediately began to descend down the stairs upon seeing her. She was ready to explain her relief at seeing him alive and well but froze as he began to approach her fiercely. The darkness on his face was one she had never seen on him before.

"Phoebus-" She began as he approached her but was cut off when he grabbed her by her collar roughly, bringing her up off the ground single-handedly.

Not having expected an aggressive greeting, Safira stared up at the taller captain, shock evident on her face. He glared down at her as he reached into his pocket with his free hand and brought the silver necklace up to her face.

"Where did you get this?" Phoebus demanded of Safira, his voice deathly quietly.

"Phoebus, what are you doing?!" Esmeralda exclaimed wide-eyed, rushing over to them along with an alarmed hunchback.

"Where did you get this?!" He repeated, now shouting.

Safira began to struggle against his grip, forcing him to drop her onto her feet. She glared up at him furiously as she snatched the necklace from him.

"It's mine."

"No, it's not," Phoebus reached for the chain angrily, gripping it tightly as he tried to pull it from her.

"Yes, it is!" She insisted in outrage as they each tried to pull it from the other's grip, "My parents gave it to me on my tenth birthday now let go of it before you break it!"

Phoebus let go, staring at Safira in disbelief as she placed the necklace back around her neck.

"That's impossible!" He shook his head firmly, "That necklace belongs to my sister! Who were your parents?! Where did they get it?!"

He would receive no answers as the chilling sound of Frollo's voice echoed through the hideout.

"Surround them!"

The four friends turned their horrified eyes to the minister as a thousand soldiers invaded the gypsy haven.

Screams were heard by the frantic gypsy folk as they tried to escape. Every escape route was blocked by soldiers. Phoebus, Esmeralda, Safira and Quasimodo were now surrounded, spears pointed at them to prevent them from running. They all turned to face the minister who had a look of both joyous shock and smug victory; it was the face of a man whose dreams had just come true.

"After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is mine at last," Frollo announced victoriously before he walked over to Quasimodo, patting his back, "Dear Quasimodo… I always knew you'd someday be of use to me."

"No…" Quasimodo gasped shakily as he realized what his master had done.

He had been bluffing about knowing where the hideout was. He and Phoebus had foolishly taken the bait and had directed Frollo straight to the people they were trying to protect. Quasimodo was soon forgotten as Frollo approached the three fugitives who were each currently being restrained by a soldier.

"What are you talking about?" Esmeralda snapped icily.

"Why, he led me right to you, my dear," Frollo smirked smugly, caressing Esmeralda's cheek.

The death glare Esmeralda shot the judge didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He was now turning his attention to his former captains.

"And look what else I've caught in my net! Captains Sacha and Phoebus!"

He turned to Phoebus, "Back from the dead… Another miracle, no doubt. I shall remedy that."

Frollo then turned his focus to Safira who, unlike Phoebus and Esmeralda, wasn't struggling against the grip of the soldier. She stood calmly, staring up at him emotionlessly. Though her features remained stoic, Frollo didn't miss the two flaming balls of hateful fire that were her eyes.

"I suppose you couldn't hide forever, could you?" Frollo smirked darkly.

"I suppose not, sir," She retorted with a cruel smirk of her own, "No gypsy can escape you."

Frollo's smirk wavered. He stared at her, his eyes slowly narrowing. A tense silence ensued as everyone present listened intently. She managed to yank herself away from the shocked soldier who had been caught off guard by her scandalous confession.

"It's quite sad really," Safira continued tauntingly, "You despise gypsies so much yet you appoint one as your Captain. But I suppose it's to be expected of a git such as yourself -"

A crack echoed as Frollo backhanded her so fiercely, she had been knocked to the ground. Her hat fell to the ground upon impact, her hair spilling like black ink onto the floor. Gasps and murmurs filled the hideout from both gypsies and soldiers alike. Frollo took a step backwards as he looked upon her in astonishment. The look on his face reflected on both Phoebus and Quasimodo's as they gaped at her as if she were an unknown creature not of this Earth.

Phoebus' eyes widened tenfold as he took in the sight of the young woman. Her long black hair, her haunting blue eyes, the necklace she wore, her age… It all made too much sense to deny.

"Selene?!" Phoebus choked emotionally, thankful the soldier was holding him up or else he would have collapsed to his knees.

"Sacha," Quasimodo breathed out in disbelief, shaking his head slowly as if he couldn't comprehend what he was looking at.

Safira sat up slowly, cracking her neck before she stared straight up into Frollo's eyes. Her cheek was bleeding from the gashes left by his elaborate rings. Blood trickling down the corner of her lips, her teeth having shred the inside of her cheek upon the blow. She spit her blood at Frollo's feet disdainfully.

"You hit like a dame, your honor."

Frollo's actions brought scandal among the gypsies at the mistreatment of who they now realized was the Black Soldier. Shouts of outrage were made, bringing the soldier's to refocus their attention back on their prisoners. Phoebus began to struggle furiously in a frantic attempt to aid his sister but all it did was bring a second soldier to painfully restrain him.

"I always knew there was something off about you," Frollo spat down at her, "No matter. There is a special place in Hell reserved for deceiving witches such as yourself."

Soldiers came to Safira and pulled her up to her feet, handling her roughly as they tied her wrists behind her back. Her black hair fell against her bloodied face, her teeth gritting to hide whatever pain she was in.

"No!" Quasimodo reached out for her but two soldiers crossed his weapons in front of him warningly. He knew that if he took another step, he would be hurt in his attempt to come to Safira's aid.

Their eyes locked as Frollo began to speak. Her eyes pooled with apology for her deceit as she looked upon his turquoise eyes. She didn't want him to find out in this manner. But she had no choice. Knowing that she had been caught, she chose to reveal her own secret rather than have Frollo reveal it for her upon execution.

"There will be a bonfire in the square tomorrow and you're all invited to attend," Frollo turned to his men, "Lock them up."

Safira and Quasimodo's trance broke when she was roughly pulled away along with the rest of the prisoners. Quasimodo's breathing came in short panicked breaths. He rushed to Frollo, grabbing the foot of his robes as he knelt down.

"No, please, Master…" He began pleadingly but was met with nothing but a cruel stare.

He knew there was no convincing him and he broke down.

"Take him back to the bell tower," Frollo demanded of two soldiers, "And make sure he stays there."

Tears ran down his cheeks as he was dragged back to the bell tower.

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 **Author's Note:**

Finally, right?!

I hope you enjoyed this drama-filled chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Prepare for more drama, angst and mixed emotions.

See you all on Sunday!

~ Laruto


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

" _But from everlasting to everlasting, the Lord's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children."_

Psalm 103:17

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"Selene!"

Phoebus grabbed the bars of his prison cell as he attempted to get Safira to listen to him. Safira was beginning to get irritated as Phoebus continued to call out to her. He was in the cell directly across from her which made it impossible to ignore him. She sat in the furthest corner she could, her back pressed against the cell wall as she hid in the darkness.

"Selene!"

"Phoebus!" She finally snapped, startling the gypsies with whom she shared a cell, "Stop calling me that!"

"Selene, please listen!" Phoebus continued desperately, "I've been looking for you my whole life, the least you can do is listen to me!"

"What are you blabbing on about?!" Safira raised her voice, looking at him as if he had lost his mind.

Phoebus' words began to bring an uneasiness to the gypsies who had kept Safira's true past from her. Until now. Phoebus, so consumed with emotion, spoke short and blunt sentences.

"You were taken from us right out of your crib! Our father searched for you until his death!"

"Phoebus," She began calmly, "You've gotten me confused with someone else-"

"No!" He shouted now, shaking the bars like a mad man, "That necklace-"

"-Was given to me by my parents who were gypsies!" She retorted, fuming.

When he saw there was no getting through to her, Phoebus began to frantically search his shirt. Grabbing a hold of the gold chain he wore around his neck, he ripped it off and tossed it to her.

"Explain that then!"

His chain landed just outside her cell. She looked at him confusedly before slowly crawling over, reaching through the bars and grabbing the necklace. She examined it as best as she could. The lit torches in the room shone dully through the prison, giving her enough light to observe the golden sun pendant. She ran her thumb across it and found there was a crescent-shaped indent on the sun where his pendant would fit perfectly.

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at him. Despite her attempts to appear unfazed, she felt a sudden coldness at the evidence presented to her. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's just a coincidence-"

He pounded his fist against the cell, bringing a startled jump from everyone in the prison.

"Look at me!" He roared now, "Look at me and tell me you don't believe me!"

All the gypsies, Esmeralda included, watched and listened as the two argued viciously. Amongst the listeners was Clopin who was sitting quietly in the cell beside Phoebus'. She did as he requested and stared right into Phoebus' eyes emotionlessly.

"I don't believe you," She stated simply.

The look on Phoebus' face had her regretting her words. All she saw was his crestfallen expression before he hung his head down, still gripping the bars with trembling hands. Clopin's eyes darted back and forth between the two and stood up, walking towards the bars of his own cell.

"Safira," Clopin finally spoke up, bringing all eyes to him, "He's telling the truth."

Her body stiffened at the sound of the name she hadn't used since her parent's death. She stood swiftly, bringing her sharp gaze over to the man who dared use it. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the gypsy man who had first brought her out of the Court of Miracles. She shifted slightly to look into his brown eyes. She saw a vivid memory of a twenty two year old Clopin before her; the same person who had allowed her to taste freedom for the first time. Clopin continued to speak carefully, realizing the impact the truth could have on her.

"Rubina and Sacha were unable to have children of their own. So they took you-"

"No," She brought her hands to her ears, walking backwards slowly, "No, you're lying. You're both lying-"

She closed her eyes, attempting to block his words but he wasn't having it. This was a truth that needed to have been told to her long ago.

"That is why they kept you in the Court of Miracles," Clopin continued, speaking louder.

"Sacha, please, listen," Esmeralda urged her gently from afar.

"Selene, I'm your brother!" Phoebus called out to her desperately.

"Safira, your parents loved you," Clopin tried to reassure her, "They never meant to lie or hurt you."

"Enough!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, breathing heavily.

The cries from the three different people, all addressing her with different names was dizzying her. Her breathing became more ragged as her surroundings began to swirl. She felt her legs start to give out from underneath her, her heart pounding inside of her head loudly. She began to think back to her childhood; how she had been forbidden to leave the gypsy haven, the odd looks she received from the other gypsy children, the contrast of her appearance from the rest…

"No," She whispered to herself shakily, her legs giving out from underneath her.

The gypsies in her cell approached her in alarm, catching her before she fell. She was panting now, her vision blurring, the calls of her friends falling on deaf ears. The last thing she saw were the concerned faces of gypsies before she was drowned in black.

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Quasimodo hung from the chains he had been wrapped in, completely broken. He could hear Frollo's voice from the square as well as protests from the citizens of Paris. He couldn't bring himself to watch his friends be executed. He failed them and Frollo had won. He would live while they would pay the price with their lives.

From the square, Esmeralda – having become Frollo's lustful obsession and priority – had been the first to be tied to a pole, hay surrounding her as the executioner held a torch. Safira and Phoebus struggled uselessly inside their mobile prisons like animals at a circus. Safira attempted to break at least one cage bar but was immediately stopped by a soldier who threatened to rush her execution if she refused to stay still and quiet.

"The gypsy Esmeralda has refused to repent…" Frollo announced loud enough for everyone to hear.

 _This can't be it_ , Safira thought to herself helplessly.

As she stood inside the wooden cage, she began to wonder when everything went to Hell. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, taking in the frightened faces of the gypsies, the look of fierce anger in Phoebus' eyes mixed with his own fear. The people of Paris were passionately protesting against Frollo's order but were held back by his soldiers, unable to do anything but voice their outrage.

Safira brought her eyes to Esmeralda, shuddering at the sight of her. Garbed in just a simple white dress, Safira could tell she tried not to look as scared as she was. She could see it in her eyes; she was facing death and there was no escape this time.

"… It's time to send this unholy demon back where she belongs!"

"No!" Safira cried out, shaking the bars violently when Frollo brought his torch to the hay, executing her himself.

Safira had been unable to look away, watching powerlessly. Esmeralda was coughing, the smoke from the fire filling her lungs. Safira looked towards Phoebus but he, too, was unable to break free from his prison. They would both watch someone they love burn to death before them. Safira slid down to her knees as she tore her gaze away from her, shutting her eyes tightly. When she lost her parents, she swore she would never have to feel this pain again yet here she was.

 _God, forgive me for I have failed_ , Safira prayed fiercely.

"What is that!? In the sky?!"

Amazed exclamations brought Safira out of her mourning. She looked up to where everyone was pointing and felt her breath taken away at the sight. She stood up, squinting to make out the figure. Was it an angel sent to rescue them? She gripped the prison bars, her eyes widening when she realized who it truly was.

Quasimodo was swinging over the crowd from a rope like a savior sent from the Heavens. He let go of the rope and landed on the burning stage. He rushed to her, releasing her from her binds before he slung her over his shoulder. Frollo's soldiers were ready to attack but he fought off three soldier's single-handedly with a show of his brute strength before grabbing a hold of the rope and swinging back to the cathedral.

Everyone watched in astonishment as the hunchback began to climb the bell tower. A choke of relieved laughter escaped Safira when he made it to the top, holding Esmeralda above his head as he announced her sanctuary.

"Sanctuary!"

The crowd roared triumphantly.

"Sanctuary!"

Phoebus grinned widely up at Quasimodo, admiration pooling from his eyes.

"Sanctuary!"

Safira found herself joining in the last cheer, her heart soaring.

Frollo, now distracted, ordered the soldiers to invade the cathedral. Phoebus took the opportunity to knock out the soldier who had been guarding his prison and steal his keys from within the cage. Safira hadn't even noticed he had escaped until he stood on top of the cage, spear in hand. His voice grabbed the attention of the Parisians.

"Citizens of Paris! Frollo has persecuted our people, ransacked out city! Now, he has claimed war on Notre Dame herself! Will we allow it?!"

His words riled up the crowd and as a result, the gypsies were set free by the Frenchmen and women. With Frollo's true colors shown, the citizens of Paris were on their side now. When Safira's cage had been opened, she immediately ran towards Phoebus who had gotten his hand on two swords.

She looked at the man who called himself her brother and felt something inside of her that she couldn't quite describe.

"Phoebus…" She began uncertainly.

He looked into her blue eyes intensely before tossing her one of the swords. Catching expertly, she looked up at him and found him smirking devilishly.

"Have fun," He winked.

She felt her own lips pull upwards, adrenaline rushing through her veins as she began to fight alongside her brother. Swords clashing, brows sweating and grunts of force and pain were what fueled Safira's very soul. After months of feeling vulnerable and powerless, she was finally back in a setting she was familiar with: warfare. And indeed war had been declared; against her people, against the citizens of Paris and against Notre Dame.

She felt her blood rushing through her, giving her life, as she did what she was born to do: to fight for what was just. As sweat began to drip down her face, it stung the gashes left by Frollo's jeweled backhand but she pushed through the pain her body was in. She was oblivious to the turquoise eyes that stared at her from the cathedral.

Phoebus and Safira fought closely together, their backs turned against each other to keep the other person covered. It was truly a sight to behold to anyone watching. It was as if they were born to fight together, side-by-side; the moon warrior and the soldier of the sun.

The hunchback watched from above in awe. He watched fascinatedly as Safira fought alongside Phoebus. She was as skilled as Phoebus himself though she was lighter on her feet and far more aggressive. He felt a strange sense of pride in watching her. His best friend was truly the most amazing person he had ever known.

The fighting continued until Safira and Phoebus looked up to see molten copper spilling from the gargoyles mouths and pouring onto the city. Safira watched in wonder, her breath catching in her throat at the sight. Notre Dame was fighting back. Everyone scattered away from the cathedral. Safira and Phoebus continued to fend off the soldiers along with the rest of the crowd.

"Look! Up there!"

Safira looked up once more, the sight of Quasimodo and Esmeralda dangling off a gargoyle as Frollo attempted to knock them off filled her with dread. She turned her body completely towards the cathedral with the intention of running inside to aid them.

"Selene, look out!" Phoebus' voice called out to her desperately.

Safira looked towards her attacker who had the advantage of surprise. She cried out as the soldier swung his sword deeply against her abdomen. She recovered quickly, their swords clashing. The soldier who attacked her was overweight and slow, giving her a lead. She knocked the sword out of his hand in his clumsiness.

A battle cry escaped her as she shoved her sword through his chest. She looked into his horrified eyes until they glazed over. She panted as she pulled her sword out of his body, watching him fall first before she shakily fell to her knees and onto the floor exhaustingly.

Phoebus rushed over to her, kneeling down and pulling her into his arms. He cradled her back gently, watching in horror as blood gushed from her stomach.

"No, no, no, Selene," He began to panic, distress in his eyes as he brushed her wet hair off of her sweating face.

"Save him," She whispered lowly to him, her eyes glazing as she stared up at him pleadingly.

Those were her last words before she fell unconscious in his arms.

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Frollo's death had been an event of rejoicing. Parisians and gypsies cheered and stories of the brave foursome who had fought against him spread like wildfire. Safira's true identity was revealed, the once feared Quasimodo was now named a hero, the insubordinate bravery of Phoebus was acknowledged and Esmeralda was renowned as the courageous gypsy who stood up to Frollo. But even as the city celebrated, there were three that were somberly gathered in the bell tower.

Phoebus had scooped up Safira when she fell unconscious and ran towards the cathedral. He sat her down swiftly on one of the church benches before fulfilling her wish and rushing to Quasimodo's aid. It had been a God-given miracle that he had been able to catch the heavy man before he fell to his death. Their relief and joy had been short-lived when Phoebus remembered that Safira lay in the church, still bleeding.

Phoebus had rushed down to the church with Esmeralda and Quasimodo following him quickly. Quasimodo and Esmeralda gasped when they looked upon the pale, bleeding woman. Phoebus immediately picked her up, cradling her as one would a child and turned to the hunchback.

"She's wounded," Phoebus stated briefly before shoving her in Quasimodo's arms, "Take her, we'll go find help!"

Quasimodo clasped the barely conscious woman in his arms, nodding swiftly before rushing over to the bell tower. Phoebus grabbed Esmeralda's hand and nearly yanked her as he began to run out of the church.

"We need to find a doctor," Phoebus spoke hurriedly as they exited the cathedral.

"I know who can help her," Esmeralda suddenly recalled, breaking free of Phoebus' grasp, "I'll meet you back here."

They had no time to question each other and each ran out of the cathedral in different directions to get help, leaving Quasimodo alone with Safira.

Quasimodo placed her on the bed where Esmeralda had rested not too long ago. He was shaking as he attempted to stop the bleeding, pressing cloth against her stomach. The blood that ended up on his hands shook the already panicked man. The sudden sound of her weak voice brought his eyes up to her face.

"Quasi… modo," She tried to speak but he hushed her gently.

"No," He shook his head, taking her hand in his, "Don't speak."

The sight of the person whom he had known for her strength now looked so weak. She was pale, her body exerted. Her eyes were glazing from the loss of blood as she looked up at him. He reached for a new rag and began to clean the blood off his hands hurriedly.

"Frollo?" She questioned, staring up at him in anticipation.

"He's dead," Quasimodo confirmed, his other hand reaching up to run a soothing hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face, "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"I..." Safira tried to speak but she was losing consciousness.

"No," Quasimodo brought her against his chest, cupping her cheek as he buried his face in her hair, "Don't fall asleep, hang on a bit longer. Phoebus is getting help."

"I'm sorry…" She finally whispered, her eyes half-lidded, "… I lied to you…"

"You have nothing to be sorry about," His voice trembled, signaling to her that he was trying his best to keep his composure.

Safira struggled to keep her eyes open. His shuddering breaths were all she could hear. Despite her body feeling cold, she felt a warmth inside of her at the feel of being pressed up against him. He would caress her cheek and brush her hair out of her face carefully, compelling Safira to swallow her spit at the stirring it brought her. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this much comfort; if she died in that moment, she would be fine with it.

Despite how hard she tried, the sense of peace she felt at the moment forced her eyes to slowly close, falling asleep to the sound of Quasimodo's quiet sobs.

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Both a medical doctor and a gypsy medicine woman had been brought to Safira. Phoebus was heavily skeptical about the medicine woman and had no qualms about hiding it.

"Let the doctor do what he needs to do," He chastised both the elderly gypsy woman and Esmeralda.

"Phoebus, this woman can help," Esmeralda insisted but Phoebus didn't want to hear it.

"I lost Selene once, I'm not losing her again," He spoke firmly, forcing the women to stand by begrudgingly.

The doctor was currently working on Safira's wounds while the four of them stood outside of the room solemnly. Quasimodo had been unable to sit the whole time, pacing back and forth. Esmeralda sat beside medicine woman named Drina, her leg bouncing anxiously as they waited.

The gypsy community stood outside the cathedral, offering their prayers. After news of The Black Soldier's serious injuries had spread through the city, the citizens of Paris would also gather and light candles in the cathedral for the health of the wounded former soldier. But despite everyone's prayers, Phoebus would receive no good news from the doctor.

When the doctor finally emerged from the room, Phoebus approached him anxiously.

"How is she?" He asked, his tone hopeful.

The doctor sighed heavily. He had managed to stitch her wounds and stop the bleeding but the severity of her injuries looked too damaging to overcome.

"It will take a miracle, young man. I'm sorry."

He squeezed Phoebus' shoulder before heading out of the cathedral. Phoebus stared at the retreating man, horrorstruck. The news brought a sickening feeling to his stomach. The thought of losing his sister so soon after having just had her back made him want to drop to his knees.

"Phoebus," Esmeralda placed a hand on his arm, "Drina can help her. Please."

Phoebus looked towards Drina gravely. She looked about as old as Notre Dame herself. She carried a heavy-looking satchel with items she used for her healing rituals. To think this woman could possibly help was laughable. But with Safira's life on the line, he was desperate. He gave a curt nod of hesitant approval and Drina began to work immediately.

"Come," Drina beckoned them to follow her into the bedroom.

Esmeralda followed Drina without hesitation. Quasimodo followed after. Phoebus hesitantly joined them. When they entered the room, they were met with the difficult sight of Safira breathing shallowly, her skin as pale as snow.

Drina sat her satchel down and began to pull out her tools; candles, herbs, a small bell, a mortar and pestle, oils and precious stones. They watched carefully as she crushed the herbs in the mortar with the pestle. She lit them in use for incense, the room being filled with its strong scent. She prepared the oils and candles next.

Reaching for her blouse, she slid it slightly open. Drina looked upon the bandage that wrapped around her chest. Pulling out a small knife, she began to slice off the breast restraints. Quasimodo and Phoebus cast their eyes elsewhere as Drina set the bandages aside.

When everything was ready, she rung the small bell once and began to chant quietly in her native language. She dipped her thumb in the oils and ran her thumb over Safira's forehead, down her chest, across her wrists and across her injured abdomen. She placed a precious stone over Safira's forehead next. As the candles and herbs burned, Drina would continue to chant.

Esmeralda, familiar with Drina's healing process, closed her eyes. She placed her hands together across her chest and prayed, sending her positive vibes towards Drina to aid her. Phoebus and Quasimodo exchanged looks but said nothing. Instead, they followed Esmeralda's lead and began to pray silently, eyes closed.

 _Please, God_ , Quasimodo begged Him, _I don't know what I will do if she doesn't make it._

 _God, let Selene live_ , Phoebus pleaded, _Don't let us lose her again._

 _God, please spare her life for she has saved so many_ , Esmeralda requested passionately.

They opened their eyes and were startled. The candles' fire were being blown out by nothing in particular. One by one, they disappeared. Drina ended her chanting and rang the bell once more. She closed Safira's blouse, pulling her blanket over her form. She stood up and began to gather her items. When she was done, she turned towards them.

"She will heal very slowly but she will live," Drina assured them.

"How can you be sure?" Phoebus questioned, "If the doctor said-"

"Doctors know only what ails the body," Drina interrupted him wisely, "The spirit must be strong for the body to heal."

"Thank you," Esmeralda expressed gratitude to the elderly gypsy.

"She must rest," She reminded them, directing Phoebus more so.

They nodded in understanding and Drina made her leave. Phoebus walked to sit on the edge of the bed, tucking the blanket around her. Quasimodo and Esmeralda watched sadly as Phoebus held back tears, his jaw clenching tightly. Quasimodo approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

"I promise I'll take good care of her," He vowed to the blonde.

Phoebus nodded quietly, bringing his own hand over Quasimodo's to squeeze firmly. It pained him to have to leave her in the bell tower when all he wanted to do was take her back home. He only hoped their prayers were enough to make that dream a reality.

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Safira opened her eyes slowly, the sound of bells awakening her. For a moment, she thought everything she remembered had been a dream; she felt as if were still in hiding in the cathedral with Quasimodo with her façade as a male soldier still intact. When she felt the pain of her wounds, she realized that it had not been a dream at all.

She waited until the bells stopped ringing before she attempted to sit. She hissed in pain but pushed through the pain. She shut her eyes tightly, her arms shaking as she placed her weight on them.

"No," came a familiar voice, "Don't get up yet."

She looked towards the door to see Quasimodo hobbling towards her swiftly. He rushed over and gently laid her back down. She watched him bring a blanket over her form, the cool Parisian breeze blowing through the bell tower and into her room. She watched his face carefully.

"What happened?" She asked him.

"You don't remember?"

"It's all a blur," She admitted.

Quasimodo walked to the herbs that Drina had left and began to mix them with the hot water he warmed up for her. He spoke as he prepared her tea.

"You have some pretty serious wounds," He informed her, "You've been asleep for three days."

"Where's Esmeralda… and Phoebus?"

"They'll be coming soon," He grabbed the wooden cup and walked to her bedside, sitting on a chair beside her.

"Here," He offered, sliding an arm around her back and helping her sit up only enough to be able to drink.

He held the cup to her lips and she obediently drank the bitter tea. He tilted the cup slightly to allow more water to flow through her lips. A trace of water ran down the corner of her lips.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry!"

He set the cup down and brought his hand to her face, wiping the water off with his thumb. Safira studied his face, her cheeks flushing. He gazed back down at her, his hand lingering on her cheek. He was looking at her very carefully as if it had been the first time he had seen her.

She was beginning to feel uneasy and did what she always did when she felt uncomfortable: she snapped.

"What are you looking at?" She growled irately.

Quasimodo realized he had been staring and cleared his throat, gently laying her down. He sat back onto his chair, embarrassed.

"Nothing," He rubbed the back of his neck, "It's just… you're… you know…"

"A woman?" She offered.

"W-Well, yes… I mean, no… I mean, you are but-"

"Relax," She sighed tiredly, "I'm still the same person."

"There are just so many questions I have."

"Like what?"

"What should I call you?"

There was a moment of silence. Safira chewed the inside of her cheek pensively before releasing a heavy sigh.

"I don't know anymore," She replied quietly, lowering her eyes.

Even she didn't know who she was at this point.

Safira; gypsy orphan?

Sacha; cold-blooded warrior?

Selene; daughter of a French soldier?

As she pondered, Quasimodo was unable to keep himself from staring again. He was wondering to himself how he hadn't seen it before. When he had first seen her face, he had assumed she was just a very young, baby-faced boy. Now as he looked at her, he noted the gentleness of her skin, the absence of a strong jaw, a little nose that rested above full, heart-shaped lips. She was currently looking down at her lap, revealing to him long, curled black lashes that graced almond-shaped eyes. She was, by many standards, a fair-looking woman especially when she allowed herself to relax and softened her features as she did now.

Though Safira hadn't been looking at Quasimodo, she could sense his stare.

When she looked up unexpectedly, she noted how he nervously averted his gaze. This was everything she was fearing; that the people around her would start treating her differently or looking at her as if she were someone else. She wasn't. She was the same person she was in a dress as she was in trousers. She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to know that she was still his best friend.

A soft knock on the door broke the tension as Phoebus and Esmeralda entered the small room. Looking up Safira's conscious face, Phoebus' eyes lit up.

"You're finally up," Phoebus smirked playfully, unable to hide his relief.

"How are you feeling?" Esmeralda immediately went to sit at the foot of her bed.

"I'm fine," Safira attempted to sit despite the pain.

"Stop that," Quasimodo frowned darkly, rushing to her side to gently push her down.

Safira grit her teeth. He couldn't possibly understand how vulnerable she felt laying down with the three of them standing around her but Phoebus did. He sat down in an attempt to put her more at ease.

"Listen to Quasi, Selene," Phoebus began, immediately bringing tension to Safira who was still unaccepting of her true birth name, "The sooner you heal, the sooner I can take you home."

"Okay, first," Safira began irately, "Stop calling me 'Selene'. And second, what the hell do you mean by home?"

Quasimodo and Esmeralda exchanged nervous glances as the two siblings began to argue. Esmeralda had asked Phoebus – nearly begged him – to not bring up anything of her true lineage until after she was feeling better. Drina had stressed that Safira's spirit remain strong in order for her to heal and if she was becoming upset, the positive energy would fly out of the room and it would take that much longer to heal. Phoebus had brushed it off as malarkey.

"Home to our mother, of course," Phoebus spoke as if it were the most obvious thing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Safira laughed bitterly, again forcing herself to sit up as she brought a hand out to Phoebus to silence him, "No one is going anywhere-"

"Selene-"

"I am not Selene!" She shouted as Quasimodo hesitantly reached to lay her back down.

She immediately shrugged off his aid angrily, forcing the hunchback to stand by and worriedly watch the stubborn woman sit up as best as she could.

"Phoebus!" Esmeralda spoke through gritted teeth, "Remember what we talked about?"

"Damn it!" Phoebus stood up so fast, he knocked the chair he had been sitting on, "Do you know how long we have waited to know whether you were alive or dead?! Our father was never the same since you left and he never gave up looking for you! He died still trying to find you!"

"Phoebus-" Esmeralda tried again but he cut her off.

"No! She needs to hear this! She needs to hear how our mother has aged twice as fast as she should, her knees are worn out from praying every night and if she had any tears left, she would never stop crying!"

Safira listened, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear her teeth grinding inside of her head. She was shaking her head as Phoebus spoke, refusing to accept anything he said.

"Phoebus," Quasimodo placed his hand on the other's shoulder firmly.

The angry blonde looked towards the hunchback who was nodding towards the door. Phoebus exhaled deeply, his blood boiling. He headed out of the room furiously, leaving Esmeralda and Safira alone.

Phoebus stormed out towards the balcony with Quasimodo following behind. Quasimodo watched as Phoebus gripped the ledge of the balcony, staring down into the city. His expression was twisted into that of fury. Quasimodo hesitated in speaking but felt that he must.

"This isn't easy," Quasimodo began, moving to stand beside him as they both stared down at the city, "But you have to take a moment to understand. Different people are calling her different things, the only life she's known is all a lie."

Phoebus was listening intently, his anger very slowly cooling into a mild annoyance.

"I would be in denial too," Quasimodo continued gently, "In fact, I was for the longest time. Until you guys came along."

Phoebus turned to look at Quasimodo and was met with a kind smile. Phoebus suddenly felt very ashamed of his outburst. He could feel his facial muscles relaxing as he took in what Quasimodo was trying to tell him.

"If we can be there for her as you were all there for me, she will eventually come around."

Phoebus sighed heavily but nodded in understanding.

"It's just hard," Phoebus admitted, "To hear her deny it. To deny me."

"She's not denying you," Quasimodo assured him, placing a hand over the other's back in a brotherly fashion, "She's denying herself."

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"It's not that I'm denying him," Safira spoke to Esmeralda irately, "He expects me to just forget everything I ever knew and accept this new persona as if nothing ever happened?"

Esmeralda was listening attentively. As soon as Phoebus and Quasimodo had left, all the emotions and questions Safira had were bursting out of her. Esmeralda felt torn between them; she understood both of their sides and found it impossible to choose one over the other.

"He loves you," Esmeralda began carefully, "He loved you even before he knew who you really were. I could see it in his eyes and in every action he took to protect you."

Safira knew that Phoebus loved her. There was never any question in her mind about that and though she would never admit it out loud, she loved him too. She loved him, she loved Quasimodo and she loved the worried gypsy who sat before her. It didn't make the startling truth he had shoved upon her any easier to accept.

"I'm sorry, Esmeralda," Safira lay back slowly, pain evident on her face, "But I'm feeling quite fatigued."

"Yes, of course," Esmeralda nodded, squeezing her hand affectionately, "Get some rest."

Safira watched the gypsy walk out of her room, the door shutting behind her. The moment Safira closed her eyes, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

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 **Author's Note:**

Once again, thank you for your kind reviews.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

~ Laruto


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery."

 _Galatians 5:1_

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Two weeks passed and Phoebus had not stopped by the bell tower since their heated argument. It had been decided among him, Esmeralda and Quasimodo that it was best he keep his distance until Safira healed in order to avoid providing her – or him, for that matter – any stress. But even with Phoebus' absence, Safira was somehow still withering away. Though her body was healing, her mind and heart remained wounded. Quasimodo was at his wit's end. She had stopped speaking to him and would reject any visitors, including Esmeralda. She had no energy to even eat. She did nothing but walk around the cathedral endlessly before coming back up to sleep.

But Safira's friends had not been the only ones to notice the difference in her.

As Safira sat on the church benches, she could see the archdeacon approaching her. She kept her gaze forward at nothing in particular. He moved to sit beside her, the scent of holy water filling her nostrils and she found it provided her with unexpected comfort. Father Ezekiel glanced at her from the corner of his eye, patiently waiting for her to speak.

The silence didn't last long.

"Father, I feel… like I'm losing my mind," She confessed in a sudden low whisper.

He looked towards her, taking in her words as he studied her face. She was pale, even paler than the already fair-skinned woman was. Dark circles lined the bottom of her eyes and she was visibly thinner. Her eyes that were usually lit with cobalt fire were now dimmed to almost navy-black pits.

As the archdeacon gazed upon the woman that he had first met as a rough soldier, he could see the internal battle she was facing. He, like everyone else in Paris, had been shocked to learn of her true identity. The shock eventually wore off and when he looked at her as he did now, he saw the same person that came to the church clothed in black armor.

"If your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find yourself," He began carefully.

She finally looked at him, a confused frown creasing her brow.

"But if you forget about yourself and look to Him, you'll find both yourself and Him," He spoke wisely, "Look for God, my child, and you will see yourself as He sees you."

His words had a powerful impact on Safira. For the first time since she lost her parents, her eyes stung with long overdue tears. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily through her mouth. She furiously rubbed her eyes, refusing to let them spill down her cheeks. She cleared the lump in her throat proudly when she realized the archdeacon was still looking at her with those intensely kind eyes.

"Thank you, Father," She finally offered curtly after she composed herself.

Join the evening mass today," He requested gently, "I think it will help you in your new journey, my child."

"I will," She promised him, offering the smallest of smiles.

When the archdeacon left, he left Safira with an overwhelmingly positive sense of energy. The tears that she had refused to let fall in front of him were now pouring silently down her cheeks involuntarily. She wiped her cheeks repeatedly as large tears continued to fall despite her efforts to hold them in. She finally gave up trying to dry her tears and instead let them trail down her cheeks and to her chin.

She took the first step in her journey to self-discovery by allowing herself to feel.

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After speaking with the archdeacon – and after she had managed to stop crying – Safira made her way to the bell tower. Quasimodo had been polishing the bells when he heard her enter. He glanced down at her for a brief moment before going back to his task. He had stopped greeting her when she repeatedly ignored him and thought it best to leave her be. Safira, however, had no intention of ignoring him any further.

"What are you doing?" She asked simply as she sat down at his work table.

The sound of her voice brought his eyes to her in surprise. He had been caught off guard, not having expected her to speak.

"O-Oh, just polishing the bells," He stopped what he was doing to look down at her, "Did you need something?"

"It can wait-"

"N-No! I'll be right there."

She watched as he eagerly dropped his task and began to climb down. Guilt washed over her as he anxiously approached her as if he had been waiting for her to finally speak any moment now. He almost looked like a neglected child who had been impatiently awaiting his parent; even after she had snubbed him so many times. When he moved to sit across from her, she could see the anticipated worry in his eyes.

"How are you feeling? Is your wound okay? Have you eaten yet?"

"Fine. Yes. And no," She brushed his questions off before getting to her point, "I was wondering if you would attend the evening mass with me. Well, after you ring the bells, of course."

"Oh, s-sure," He nodded with a bright smile, still getting used to the fact that he was able to such things now.

Since the events that led to Frollo's demise, Quasimodo had become almost instantly accepted into Parisian society. Though some still were wary of his appearance, it would wear off as soon as they witnessed firsthand how gentle the unusual-looking man was. Quasimodo had forgiven those who had publicly humiliated him at the festival but Safira couldn't say the same. If she ever faced those people, there would be Hell to pay, she had promised that much to Quasimodo's displeasure who simply wished to let bygones be bygones.

"Can I help you polish the bells?" She offered suddenly, anxious to get her mind off her troubled thoughts.

"I-If you feel up for it," He stood up with a gentle smile.

They walked towards the ladder and climbed up the steps where Safira was handed an extra rag. They both began to work in peaceful silence on the same bell until Safira finally asked what had been on her mind for a while now.

"How is Phoebus?"

"He's okay," Quasimodo glanced at her quickly before looking back at the bell before him, "He would really like to see you."

Safira pursed her lips. She wanted to see him as well but had no idea what she would say once she did. She feared they would only argue again.

"Esmeralda too," Quasimodo continued, "She would like for you to be part of their wedding."

"Well, of course I'm going to be a part of it," She grumbled, "I just don't feel like dealing with Phoebus' temper."

"I don't mind it," His tone softened, "It kind of reminds me of someone."

She looked up at him now to see him looking at her with gentle eyes that sparkled with amusement. She shook her head, unable to keep the smirk that made its way to her lips.

Leave it to Quasimodo to find a way to make the prideful ex-soldier smile.

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The evening mass had brought a sense of serenity to Safira that she hadn't felt in such a long time. She could still hear the archdeacon's words in her ears and had been glad she attended. She wasn't sure if she could have if Quasimodo hadn't agreed to come with her. After it ended, Quasimodo had suggested they take a stroll through the city to which Safira gladly accepted.

The night was still young and the cool breeze that flowed through the city was calming. Safira had been approached by citizens – French and gypsy alike – to greet the famous Blue-Eyed Gypsy turned Black Soldier. She was met with awestruck people who expressed their admiration, gratitude and even a bit of wariness at her fearsome reputation.

"It's going to take some getting used to having people just approach me like this," Safira spoke to Quasimodo as a group of admirers left, "I'm used to people avoiding me and running the other way."

Quasimodo chuckled as they continued to walk, "I know how you feel."

They walked over a bridge, stopping to admire the moonlight that shone serenely upon the river. Quasimodo took the time to admire Safira's apparel. She still wore men's clothing, opting for gypsy wear; her baggy trousers were tucked into her brown boots, her white blouse hung loosely over her form as a brown vest rested over it. The only difference now was the lack of a hat and she stopped binding her breasts; despite her baggy clothes, the surprising fullness of her chest was noticeable. Her long hair was pulled back into a thick braid that rested down her spine.

When Quasimodo first met Safira, the temperamental and fierce soldier that instilled fear in everyone, he had felt the need to show the other who she truly was. In Quasimodo's eyes, there was good behind that charade the other insisted on putting on. It was still true now that he looked upon the cross-dressing woman. Though she hadn't spoken to him about it, Quasimodo could sense that her depression came from her confusion regarding who she was. He wanted to be the one to open her eyes to the person he knew she was.

As Safira looked down into the river water, he cleared his throat to draw her attention. When she looked towards him expectantly, he nearly lost his courage – her eyes always seemed to strip him of his bravery. Swallowing his spit nervously, he gathered whatever nerve he had left.

"I, uh, made something for you," Quasimodo began to reach for his pockets.

He pulled out a wooden figurine and handed it to Safira. Raising an eyebrow, she took it and studied it carefully.

It was her.

It was the third that Quasimodo had made of Safira. The first one had been of Sacha clouded in black with only two dots for eyes that could be seen. The second had been of Sacha outside of his armor in his peasant wear. And this last one was one that touched Safira's heart deeply.

The figurine took on a fierce fighter's stance, sword in hand. He had carved the figurine to wear men's gypsy wear, her long hair swaying down her form. Her eyes were dotted blue but this time, a sweep of black over them signified the feminine eyelashes. It was as Quasimodo saw her above the bell tower when she had been fighting off the soldiers; it was a mixture of all three personas she had been trying to decide was the real her.

When Safira did nothing but stare blankly at the figurine, Quasimodo spoke up.

"I know right now you're very confused… But I hope that when you look at this, you can at least see yourself through my eyes even if you can't through your own."

She swallowed her spit, her hand now clenched over the figurine as she held back tears. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. For a moment, Quasimodo was afraid he had angered her and expected a tantrum at any moment. When he was met with the gentle opening of her eyes and the softest smile he had seen on her yet, her beauty took his breath away.

"Thank you," She spoke slowly to keep the tremble from her voice.

He nodded, smiling warmly up at her. She cleared her throat in an attempt to shake off the wave tears that threatened to spill. She had cried earlier that day and that had been enough emotion for her.

"We better get back," She suggested, still clutching the figurine as if it would be snatched away at any moment.

They walked in a comfortable silence. Safira felt an unfamiliar ache in her heart as she walked side-by-side with the hunchback. She glanced at him every now and then before realizing it wasn't a bad kind of ache. It was the furthest thing from it.

In fact… she liked it.

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A traveler's carriage pulled up in front of Phoebus' home the following morning. It was a carriage that brought great attention from the citizens nearby as it oozed wealth and good taste. The carriage was opened by a man who stepped out first, extending his hand out to the maiden inside. She graciously took his hand and descended down the steps.

"Shall I accompany you to the door, madam?" The man asked.

"No, thank you, James," The middle-aged woman spoke calmly yet every bit of her nerves were wired with anxiousness.

"As you wish, madam."

Chandra walked up to Phoebus' home, knocking on his door. It felt as if it had taken him forever to reach it. Nothing could have prepared Phoebus when he opened the door to face the lovely woman before him, looking down at her with eyes as wide as plates.

"M-Mother?!"

"Hello, dear," She greeted him with a warm smile before she rushed past him and into his home, "Where is she? Where is my Selene?"

"Mother, what are you doing here?" He asked carefully as he closed the door.

She turned to face him in a huff.

"You write me a letter telling me you found my daughter and expect me to wait for you?"

"Yes, actually," He looked at her as if she were daft, "I specifically told you in my letter to wait home until I could bring her to you."

"Nonsense," She waved him off.

A woman's voice rang through the living room as Esmeralda made her presence known.

"Phoebus, who-"

Esmeralda stopped mid-sentence when her eyes locked with Chandra's. Chandra looked at her curiously before turning to look at Phoebus confusedly. If this was her daughter, she had changed dramatically throughout the years.

"Is… is this…"

"No, mother," He shook his head, rubbing his eyes frustratingly, "This is Esmeralda."

Chandra turned back to her with wide eyes, a large smile on her face. Phoebus had included Esmeralda – along with other things – in his long letter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear," Chandra approached her, taking her hand in hers and offering a gentle squeeze, "Phoebus raved about how beautiful you were in his letter but never did I imagine this vision of loveliness."

Esmeralda's confusion was replaced by startled knowing.

"You're-"

"Chandra, yes," Chandra confirmed kindly before turning back towards Phoebus, "Where is Selene? I simply must see her!"

Esmeralda looked towards Phoebus, crossing her arms over her chest. Her I-told-you-so expression brought a sigh out of Phoebus. She had agreed that Chandra should know of her daughter's existence right away but feared for Safira's mental well-being. Esmeralda urged Phoebus to wait a bit longer in order to allow Safira a chance to accept the truth. Phoebus, however, had mistakenly believed his mother would respect his wishes to wait for him.

"She's not here right now," Phoebus tried to explain.

"I shall wait then," Chandra sat down on the nearest chair, her ankles crossed as she elegantly rested her closed legs at her side.

"Mother… we need to talk…" Phoebus sat across from her.

"About what, darling?" She then frowned, "Is Selene alright?"

"Yes, she's fine," Phoebus exhaled, "Mother, the reason I asked for you to be patient and wait for me to bring her to you is because Selene isn't quite ready to meet you."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Chandra blinked in surprise.

Phoebus knew this was going to be a very long and painful story to tell his mother. He opted for starting from the beginning to when Selene was taken and reborn as Safira.

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"I think I'm better at this than I am at carving," Safira called out to Quasimodo, holding a dart in hand.

Quasimodo looked up from his work table where he had been painting a new addition to his wooden figurines. He chuckled as he watched her throw the dart towards its target and hitting the center expertly. There were five more darts dug into the center target from previous throwing's.

"Remind me never to annoy you while you're holding one of those," He smiled.

"You'd have to be Phoebus to annoy me to that extent."

Safira walked towards the board and plucked the darts off to start anew. Quasimodo put down his finished figurine to let it air dry, setting his elbow on the table to prop his cheek against his hand. He watched her, unaware of the admiration that pooled out of his eyes.

"Do you miss being a soldier?" He asked just as she was about to throw a dart.

His question startled her into missing her target, hitting the second to last inner circle of the round board. She looked towards him in surprise before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Sometimes," She admitted.

"What do you miss most about it?"

She stood with her arms crossed, darts in hand as she thought about his question.

"I guess I miss having authority," She walked towards him now and joined him at the table, "You may not have noticed but I can be a bit… controlling."

"You?" He asked in mock surprise.

She brought up a dart to jokingly aim towards him. He responded with a laugh. She couldn't help the smile that came to her lips before she set the dart down and continued to speak.

"Being captain meant I was in control of my men. Having no control, like now, makes me… uneasy, I suppose."

"I'm sure there were times when things were out of your control even as captain."

"Maybe," She relented before she looked up at Quasimodo with sparkling eyes, "You know, one time, we received a report of pained screams that were coming from that abandoned bakery near the blacksmith's shop."

Quasimodo eyes widened at the story, "That place hasn't been open in over thirty years. What was it?"

"Well, we feared the worst," She continued, "We thought maybe someone was being held hostage or something equally terrible. I gathered a group of soldiers and I walked in with them behind. I had my sword at the ready when I heard the very screams."

"What happened?" Quasimodo questioned in fascination.

"I rushed towards the screams, ready to attack," Safira began to chuckle before finishing her sentence with trouble as she was now laughing fully, "It turns out… it was an aspiring opera singer who was using the building to practice."

She and Quasimodo burst into laughter. Quasimodo buried his face in his arms as his shoulders shook, Safira bent over from where she sat and hugged her middle; tears were stinging her eyes as she laughed harder than she laughed since she was but a child. When they both managed to compose themselves, Safira wiped her eyes and looked at Quasimodo who was getting his breathing back to normal.

"I can just imagine your face when you saw him," Quasimodo chuckled.

"I laugh now but at the time I was more irritated," She shook her head with a grin.

She looked at him and smiled almost sadly, "But I guess what I truly miss most is helping people. It felt good knowing I had that power to help those who needed me."

"You can still help people now."

"I suppose."

She was looking at him now in a way that made Quasimodo's stomach tighten. It was an expression he had seen on her before. It seemed as if she almost had something to say but was trying to come up with a way to say it. He found that he liked that pensive look to her; it softened her feminine features in such a flattering way.

Safira wasn't sure what was overcoming her but her bodily feelings around Quasimodo – such as her nausea, short of breath and warmth – that had begun very faintly when he still knew her as Sacha were growing more and more each day. She wanted to tell him of how she was feeling but found it difficult to describe. After all, she had never felt this way before.

But whatever she was thinking would go on unknown. They both looked up when the sounds of footsteps approached the bell tower. Safira stood at the sight of Phoebus walking in alone. Quasimodo glanced at Safira worriedly for it had been the first time they saw each other since their dispute.

Phoebus nodded towards Quasimodo in a silent greeting before turning his attention to Safira.

"Hey," He spoke awkwardly, his hands shoving into his pockets.

"Hey," She responded just as uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest as she studied his face.

"I, um…" Phoebus cleared his throat, "How are you feeling?"

"Good," She spoke truthfully, "How are you?"

"Good, good," He nodded anxiously.

Awkward silence filled the air. Quasimodo stood with the intention of slowly walking out onto the balcony.

"Look, about what I said-" Safira began hesitantly.

"I'm sorry-" Phoebus tried to let her know.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to deny you as my-"

"No, no, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to push anything onto you-"

"I can try to accept-"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to."

Phoebus looked at her now with anticipation in his eyes. Her heart ached at the hopefulness in his tone.

"You do?"

"Yes... But," She cast her eyes down to the ground, "I can't… be 'Selene'… But I can be Safira and I can learn to become your sister."

Phoebus swallowed as she spoke. It was all he ever wanted to hear; that she would accept him in her life as her brother or at least try to.

"I can even try to meet this… woman…" Safira wasn't sure what to even call her biological mother, "I just ask that you both understand that I can't let go of my past as if it never existed."

She looked up at him with determination in her eyes.

"What happened has made me who I am and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Neither would I," Phoebus finally smiled at her.

He found that he meant what he said. For years he had asked God why he would allow someone to destroy his small family by taking Selene away. As he looked her now, all bitterness and anger over losing her was overshadowed by the deep joy of seeing the strong woman she had become.

"Good," She smiled back, relaxing.

"I'm so glad you feel that way because-"

"Phoebus?" His mother's voice rang from outside the bell tower.

Phoebus blanched at the sound.

"E-Excuse me," Phoebus dismissed himself to Safira before rushing out and running towards his mother, leaving Quasimodo and Safira to exchange confused looks.

He managed to reach her while she was still walking outside the entrance to the bell tower with an alarmed Esmeralda running behind to stop her. When he reached Chandra, he placed his hands on her shoulders firmly to prevent her from going further. He looked down into her eyes firmly as one would a child.

"Mother, I told you to wait-"

"Darling, I simply can't wait any longer!" Chandra insisted stubbornly.

"I tried to stop her," Esmeralda spoke towards Phoebus.

"Is she in there?" Chandra was taking peeks over Phoebus' broad shoulders.

It was at this point that Safira was standing at the top of the stairs that led to the bell tower, Quasimodo standing behind her. They both began to listen in on the conversation that took place below them.

"Yes, but-" Phoebus' voice could be heard trying to reason with the stubborn woman.

"Let me speak to Selene," The strange woman's voice echoed desperately.

"Mother, please!" Phoebus was becoming impatient.

Quasimodo looked towards Safira who was now trembling. She looked around as if trying to find a way to escape but Quasimodo took her hands in his before she could bolt. He looked into her eyes and saw the same terror that he had seen when she had faced her fear of heights.

"Wait here," He urged her, "I'll be right back."

She nodded quietly in response. She watched him as he descended down the stairs, cracking her knuckles as she stood by. She had been ready to try and meet the woman but was nowhere near ready to meet her this very second. By the sounds of it, the woman was eager to see her and it only made Safira all the more nervous.

Quasimodo descended down the stairs, making his presence known to the trio who looked up in anticipation. He looked at the woman who was Safira's mother and noted the initial alarm on her face. She didn't scream, run or look at him in revulsion. She simply stared at him in bemusement as if he were the single most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

"Quasi?" Phoebus questioned him.

"Quasi? As in 'Quasimodo'?" Chandra gaped towards Phoebus.

Phoebus nodded to which Chandra responded by immediately approaching the hunchback. Quasimodo was momentarily caught off guard when the woman stood before him and offered a charming smile. It was like looking at Safira twenty years later. There were certain features that set them apart; whereas Chandra's face was softer and more feminine, Safira held a flattering sharpness in the angles of her face and a nose that was much more becoming. Yet, it was those haunting blue eyes, porcelain skin and ebony hair that made them nearly twins. Even as Chandra smiled at him, they held the same pleasing grin, the only difference being Safira's dimples that delved into her cheeks when she smiled as big as this woman was doing now.

"My name is Chandra," She introduced herself before placing a hand on her chest to express gratitude, "My son has told me all about you and your heroism."

"M-Me?" He blinked, looking back at Phoebus then back at Chandra.

"Yes," She nodded eagerly, "He told me of the bell ringer who took in my Selene when she was in need and how you became her dearest friend. I can never thank you enough for what you have done, sweet child."

Quasimodo ran a hand through his hair nervously, unaccustomed to such kind words especially from a beautiful woman.

"I-It was nothing."

"Oh, nonsense," She dismissed his humility, "You must remind me to compensate you but for now, please lead me to Selene."

Quasimodo hesitated, unsure of how to inform the woman that the daughter she yearned to see was not was eager to see her at the moment.

"G-Give us a moment," Quasimodo requested before hobbling back up the stairs.

Chandra remained standing, her foot tapping eagerly. Phoebus and Esmeralda waited behind Chandra just as eagerly. Phoebus feared his impatient mother would bolt up the stairs and bring Safira to the offensive.

Quasimodo was relieved to see Safira was still at the top of the staircase. It was oddly endearing to see her so nervous when she was normally a master at masking her emotions. He stopped a few steps below before holding his hand out with a reassuring smile. Her eyes widened at the gesture.

"No," She shook her head immediately, "I can't-"

"Remember when you crossed the gargoyle?" He suddenly brought up, "It was raining. You were so scared, I almost changed my mind about making you cross it but I didn't. And when you crossed it, you realized it wasn't nearly as terrifying as you thought it would be."

She stared at his hand, her own hands fidgeting. Of course she remembered that night, how could she forget? But the comparison he made was unfair.

"It's just like this," He coaxed her, his hand still out for her, "You take a step forward and I'll take a step back."

She didn't budge. She tore her eyes from his hand and looked into his eyes. He could see that he was not convincing her and just like he did that rainy night, he reached out and forcibly grabbed her hands.

"No," She gasped as she pulled back.

"If you pull away, we'll both fall," He repeated his words to her from the night she crossed the gargoyle, "You can do this."

"I really can't," She continued to pull back, "What if…"

She took a moment to breath, licking her lips before finishing her question.

"What if… she doesn't like me?"

His heart went out to Safira. He took a step upwards, letting go of only one hand to reach up and cup her face. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she struggled to hold back her emotions. He ran a thumb over her cheek as his other hand squeezed hers.

"She will love you," He assured her tenderly, his eyes grazing her long lashes.

Safira felt her heart pounding in her chest, bringing her free hand to rest on Quasimodo's wrist. She opened her eyes and in those turquoise orbs, she found her courage. She nodded curtly and allowed him to step back, her small hands disappearing within his.

She held her breath as he took another step back. She followed with a step forward. She was taking deep breaths in and out, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She was losing sight of Quasimodo as she closed her eyes, her courage was slowly slipping away with each step forward. She was beginning to pull back again.

"Look at me," Quasimodo urged her firmly.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, he squeezed her hands. She felt as if someone had delivered a fierce blow into her stomach as she stared into those eyes. The feelings he made her feel topped with the overwhelming emotions of being forced to meet her biological mother were enough to nearly make her sick.

"I will not let you fall."

She released a shaky breath and their walking continued until they reached the very last step. Quasimodo released one of her hands, stepping away just enough to allow her the space to step off but she didn't move. From within the shadows, she could clearly see the anxious woman.

Chandra couldn't see Safira within the shadows and felt her anticipation growing. She watched as the hunchback gently coaxed her into stepping off the final step. Eventually, Safira slowly made her way out of the shadows until she was fully exposed.

Chandra brought her hands to her mouth, choking with emotion. Phoebus had an arm wrapped around Esmeralda's shoulders as he nervously watched the silent interaction. Esmeralda's arm slid around his waist, her other hand resting on his chest comfortingly. Quasimodo gently released Safira's hand and brought a hand to the small of her back, giving her a gentle push.

Safira stared at Chandra almost in wonder as she took a few steps until they were only a few feet away. Chandra's tears were now streaming down her face, a tearful laugh escaping her throat before she walked over to Safira swiftly. Safira started in alarm, looking as if she would run. Chandra, too overcome with joy, paid Safira's discomfort no mind.

"Selene," Chandra choked out, a teary smile graced her lips as she reached out and took her face in her hands.

Selene closed her eyes, her expression was that of pain as if Chandra's touch burned. She brought her hands up to grip the woman's wrist firmly and for a moment it looked as if she would shove her back.

She didn't.

She held onto her wrists and finally opened her eyes to look down at the shorter woman. She could feel her emotions overwhelming her, shuddering as her eyes began to water.

"Oh, Selene," Chandra began to cry, "My Selene!"

Chandra threw herself at her daughter in a fierce embrace. Safira hesitated but slowly wrapped her arms awkwardly around the woman. Taking in her flowery scent, an unknown nostalgia filled Safira as her tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Safira closed her eyes tightly and tightened her hold on the woman.

Esmeralda wiped her own tears at the emotional sight before them. Phoebus let go of her to join them. He wrapped his arms tightly around both women, burying his face in Safira's hair, placing a soft kiss on her head. Quasimodo's heart nearly burst with joy at the sight of a once brokenhearted woman reuniting with her long lost daughter.

That was the night Safira regained her full humanity.

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 **Author's Note:**

I'm not going to lie, I totally cried when I wrote this.

The feels will continue to be had!

If you loved this chapter, don't forget to review/favorite/follow! If you hated it, constructive criticism is welcome!

~ Laruto


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom."

 _Proverbs 11:2_

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Laughter surrounded Phoebus' home as he, Esmeralda, Quasimodo, his mother and Safira sat the dinner table. It had been a week since Safira and Chandra were reunited and it would prove to be a very slow and awkward process but a friendship was promised to be made. Chandra had been understanding and patient by initially accepting that Selene was now known and addressed as Safira. She then continued to assure Safira that they could start by getting to know each other with no pressure of acknowledging Chandra as her mother.

It seemed as if Chandra was doing everything in her power to keep Safira comfortable even if it meant pushing aside her own discomforts. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize losing her again by forcing their relationship. Safira had thought it would be difficult to connect with this woman but she was too pleasant to dislike; she was graceful, kind, humble despite her wealth and just an overall loving person.

Chandra didn't know it but she had won Safira's heart just by her kind treatment towards Quasimodo. It had been more than kindness, she kept him at a high regard for what he had done for Safira, for Phoebus and for her future daughter-in-law.

As they sat around the dinner table, Chandra addressed Quasimodo.

"Safira tells me that you are a master at wood carving, Quasimodo."

Quasimodo could never get used to Chandra's never-ending compliments. He rubbed the back of his head shyly.

"I do alright."

"He does more than alright," Esmeralda added, noting Quasimodo's bashfulness.

"He's a man of many talents," Safira agreed, "Heavens knows I didn't have the patience to learn."

"But you're great at darts," Quasimodo pointed out.

"How good?" Phoebus challenged playfully.

"Put an apple on your head and I'll show you," She smirked at him, her eyes daring him to try her.

"Let's do it," Phoebus stood up with a mischievous grin, bringing a frown of disapproval from Chandra.

"None of that," She grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down before standing herself, "Why don't you sit in the living area while I clear the table?"

"Oh no," Quasimodo stood politely, "Allow me, you rest."

"I'll join you," Safira stood with him.

"Why thank you, dears," Chandra smiled brightly before taking a hold of Esmeralda and Phoebus' arms, "Come and talk to me all about the wedding plans!"

Phoebus looked back at Quasimodo and Safira with pleading eyes to save him but they merely waved at him before he disappeared into the living area. Quasimodo and Safira laughed quietly as they gathered their plates.

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Chandra and Safira strolled through the calm night, passing other Parisians who were enjoying the cool breeze. Chandra had invited her to take a walk with her after she and Quasimodo had finished cleaning the kitchen. Safira swiftly accepted but as soon as she was left alone with Chandra, she felt an uncomfortable awkwardness surrounding them. If Chandra felt awkward, she didn't show it.

"It's such a beautiful night, isn't it?" Chandra smiled up at the sky, bringing her elegant cloak around her tightly.

"It is," Safira agreed, "Quasimodo and I walk through the city at night very frequently."

"Oh?" Chandra looked sideways at her daughter, a small smile on her lips.

"Yes," Safira shoved her hands into her pant pockets as she spoke, "It's something a lot of people take for granted, you know."

"What's that, dear?"

"A stroll. He and I never knew what it was like to be able to do that so freely."

Chandra looked at her knowingly, a flash of pity crossing her features. Safira, who was looking ahead, didn't notice.

"You have a lot in common," Chandra noted, "It's no wonder you are such good friends."

They basked in silence until Chandra caught a breathtaking view of the crescent moon that hung from the sky, illuminating the dark city. She stopped and placed a hand on Safira's arm who followed her mother's gaze to the moon. A small and sad smile graced Chandra's rosy lips.

"You know, when you were born, the moon looked just like this," Chandra spoke quietly, "You lit up our lives even during the darkest of times. And Phoebus, well, he was the sun that brought life to our family. You two were your father's everything."

Safira looked down at Chandra, taking in the emotion behind her aged eyes. It was Safira's turn to feel pity. As she studied Chandra's features, she could sense the sorrow that she masked so well.

"I wish I could have known him," Safira offered comfortingly; surprisingly, she found herself meaning it.

"Oh, you would have loved him," Chandra smiled through watering eyes, "You have his spirit. I can see it in your eyes. He was a fighter and he never gave up; especially when it came to finding you. I only wish he had lived to…"

Chandra was unable to continue, lowering her gaze to the ground as she attempted to compose herself. Safira shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't good with handling people and their emotions. Quite frankly, she sometimes had trouble understanding her own feelings let alone others. Before she could come up with what to say to soothe Chandra, the woman looked up with that gentle smile back on her face.

"Were they good to you?" She questioned inquisitively, "Those people?"

The subject of Safira's adoptive parents was one she had been hoping to avoid. As she looked into her mother's deep blue eyes, she saw no malice or anger – only mere curiosity. She wasn't sure what the right answer was and opted for telling the truth.

If one could put aside what they had done – kidnapping her and keeping her hidden from the world – Safira could honestly say they had been good to her. She was given overwhelming affection and had never suspected that she might not be their daughter.

"Yes," She nodded slowly, "They were."

Chandra smiled lightly, rubbing her daughter's arm affectionately. She could sense Safira's discomfort with the subject.

"As long as they kept you happy, I can't be angry."

As Chandra looked up towards the moon once more, Safira admired the woman before her silently. Chandra's forgiveness of the couple who had kidnapped her daughter baffled Safira. She put herself in Chandra's shoes and doubted she would have the strength to forgive the people who had taken a piece of her away.

They stood in silence, both admiring the night sky. Frederick stared down upon the women from the Heavens, giving Safira an inexplicable warmth despite the cool night.

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"You're moving back to Paris?"

He and Esmeralda had been sitting at the table, enjoying an early breakfast when Chandra informed him of her move. Phoebus' question had been of disbelief, leading Chandra to believe he was displeased with her news.

"Well, don't sound so disappointed," She huffed as she readied his breakfast.

"No, it's not that!" He immediately corrected her, "It's great but I thought you hated Paris."

"I only hated it because it was a constant reminder of losing your sister," She clarified, "But now that she's returned, I have nothing left to hate. Besides, my daughter needs me here."

"I think it's wonderful," Esmeralda smiled.

"See? Esmeralda is excited," Chandra smiled before rushing over to pinch Esmeralda's cheek, "Here you go, darling, an extra piece of fruit."

Phoebus glowered at them both, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Where will you live?" He questioned her.

"I bought the old house," She assured him, "No one has lived in it since we moved. I only hope Sel-, pardon me, Safira will move in with me."

"Well, of course she will," Phoebus concluded, "She can't stay in the bell tower forever, can she?"

Esmeralda and Chandra exchanged glances for the briefest of moments as Phoebus unknowingly ate his breakfast. Chandra had yet to ask Esmeralda about the relationship between the bell ringer and her daughter. She could sense their connection the moment Quasimodo had managed to convince her to meet Chandra. Was it romantic? Chandra concluded that it was not. Deep down, as much as she respected and admired Quasimodo, she didn't see her daughter wanting to be with any man, let alone a man as an unfortunate-looking as he.

Esmeralda, too, feared for Chandra for she knew Safira would be hesitant to leave Notre Dame. She knew that the bell tower was like a safe haven for her; it offered her comfort, familiarity and the presence of Quasimodo. Though Phoebus was blind to how close the two truly were, Esmeralda and Chandra could see their attachment was only growing and growing. It seemed as if you couldn't see one without the other. It was almost concerning how much they depended on each other.

"Well, I certainly hope not," Chandra responded to Phoebus' question, "I have bitten my tongue on her choice of attire as well as name but I find it highly inappropriate that she is sharing housing with another man…"

"Mother, it's Quasi," Phoebus glanced up at her with an expression that assured her she had nothing to fear.

"He is still a man," Chandra straightened her back, her chin tilting upward, "A man who I'm sure feels the same urges you do-"

"Mother!" Phoebus dropped his utensils, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Oh please, Phoebus," Chandra turned to face him, hand on hip, "Your sister is a beautiful young girl. And now that I've managed to convince her to at least wear form-fitting apparel, who wouldn't notice her-"

"I'm done," Phoebus stood up and exited the room, suddenly losing his appetite.

Chandra looked towards a very amused Esmeralda with great confusion.

"What did I say?"

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Quasimodo watched hesitantly as Safira rode her horse towards him, her free hand holding the reins of another. They were at the nearest horse stable within the city that rented horses for beginners as well as horseless travelers. He had managed to agree to try horseback riding but after one look at the powerful beast, he was beginning to change his mind again.

"Come on," She smiled brightly, obviously excited.

"I don't know about this," He rubbed his arm insecurely.

She hopped off her horse, walking towards him with a smile, "It's not so hard, think of it like wood carving."

"My figurines can't kick me in the face," He pointed out, bringing a chuckle out of Safira.

"Relax," She assured him, "Watch me."

And watch Quasimodo did. Chandra had been unable to convince Safira to wear women's clothing but had at least been able to start wearing men's clothing that didn't hang off of her like a potato sack. Right now she wore trousers that seemed to cling to her legs as well as riding boots; it showed off her round and ample derriere and right now it was drawing attention from other riders. Her white blouse, thankfully, was not so tight but still hung pleasantly over her upper body, giving only the slightest hint of full breasts.

It seemed the more time he spent with Safira, the more he was becoming aware that she was a woman no matter how much she insisted on not behaving like one. His eyes drifted to her bottom briefly before he quickly looked away in shame. As she brought one leg up to the leather stirrups and swung her other leg over the horse, sitting atop it. She brought her hand up as if to say "look how easy." He responded with a grimace.

"Your legs are longer than mine," He pointed out lamely.

She laughed at his excuse, shaking her head amusedly.

"Come on," She urged him, "Take the first step, I'll stay beside you. Just grab my hand and I'll pull you up."

Quasimodo bit his lower lip but approached the horse who already sensed the hunchback's fear. The horse began to grunt, shifting uncomfortably.

"Don't let him know you're afraid," She told Quasimodo, "You'll only make him uneasy."

Quasimodo swallowed as he held onto the saddle and brought on short leg up. He placed his entire weight on his leg and swung over too hard. He cried out as flung himself to the opposite side, clumsily falling off the horse. He landed on the ground with a grunt.

Laughter from other riders brought an embarrassed heat to Quasimodo's cheeks. Safira immediately hopped off her horse and helped him up. As soon as she did, she took one threatening step towards the laughing men, her glare alone shutting them up. She began to stomp menacingly towards them, much to Quasimodo's horror.

"Safira, don't," Quasimodo whispered lowly, taking her arm, "Let it go."

The men were already guiding their horses out of the stables, muttering about the crazy woman quietly. She looked towards Quasimodo and immediately relaxed at the sight of his dirt-stained face. She sighed as she pulled out a cloth from her back pocket and wiped the dirt off, offering a small smile.

"That wasn't bad," She encouraged him.

"Yeah right…" He watched her face with a fluttering stomach as she gently cleaned his face.

"Some people don't even make it that far," She rubbed his shoulder before taking his hand, "Here, just ride with me."

She was already on her horse before Quasimodo could protest. She reached her hand out to him but he hesitated. He stared at her hand before looking up at her, receiving a dimpled smile.

"I won't let you fall."

His own words being used against him brought an instant smile to the misshapen man. He reached for her hand, his other hand gripping the saddle as he hopped up. His seating on the horse was a bit shaky but he didn't fall this time. He was seated behind Safira, his chest pressing against her back. His hands instinctively came to her hips to steady himself.

"That was good," She spoke as she faced forward, "I'm going to make him trot now."

Quasimodo readied himself, his eyes widening when the slight gripping of Safira's hips wasn't enough. He clumsily wrapped his arms around her waist, earning a small chuckle from the woman as they rode into town. Quasimodo would cry out or exclaim Safira to be careful whenever her horse moved slightly faster.

"Will you relax?" She was now bent slightly over as he clung to her form, his weight against her, "You're going to break my back!"

"S-Sorry," He loosened his hold a bit.

Safira guided her horse slowly through the city until they began to cross the bridge over the river. Quasimodo relaxed enough to notice just how close Safira was against him. His hands slowly drifted from her waist to rest against her hips once more in an attempt to give the other more space but all it did was stir something inside of him that he had come to associate with Safira. He felt an inexplicable guilt at what he was feeling.

"I'm going to make him go a bit faster," She warned him suddenly, "Hang on."

Quasimodo slid his arms back around her waist, pressing himself to her. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent as the horse began to trot faster. He felt no fear, no uneasiness. All he could feel was Safira's presence. He savored the feeling until Safira began to guide her horse towards the river to allow him to drink.

"Alright, let's take a break," She suggested as she stopped the horse.

Quasimodo released her, shaking off whatever trance he was in. Safira hopped off the horse and was now looking up at Quasimodo who was very slowly and hesitantly making his way down. He eventually managed to land on the ground clumsily which gave the horse the chance to eagerly drink from the river.

"Well?" Safira smiled at him, "What did you think?"

"I don't think horseback riding is for me," He rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle.

"That's alright," She shrugged as they walked to sit close to the river.

They sat side-by-side as the sun began to set. The gentle breeze complimented the purple-orange hues of the sky. Quasimodo couldn't help but notice how the few stray hairs that slipped out of Safira's tight braid swayed against her face.

"How about sword fighting?" She suggested, only half-joking.

Quasimodo laughed, shaking his head, "When you can ring one of the bells without my help then I'll pick up a sword."

Safira feigned outrage before reaching towards the river to splash him with water. Quasimodo reached forward and splashed her in return. She gasped at the greater amount of water he used. Quasimodo stood and began to run from her. Safira stood with a devilish grin and chased after him.

"Get back here!" She shouted after him.

She had the advantage of being a faster runner and caught up to him quickly. She threw herself at him, tackling him clumsily as both fell into the river. Their laughter rang as they stood and splashed each other with water, both drenched. When they exhausted themselves, they walked up to the land and laid on their backs, catching their breath.

"Those were new boots, you know," She grumbled lightheartedly as she kicked off the ruined leather boots.

"You started it," He reminded her.

"You didn't have to finish it."

He laughed as he propped himself up on his elbow to face her. She was laying on her back with her eyes closed when he realized the baggy white blouse she wore was now clinging to her form. He felt his cheeks heat up. She may as well not have been wearing a blouse at all. He looked away and sat up quickly when she opened her eyes, mortified of his growing impure thoughts of his best friend.

He didn't know exactly when it happened but he had come to realize that Safira was a striking woman. She had gone from being his best friend to his incredible attractive best friend. It only made their living situation much more awkward for Quasimodo. He felt it suddenly inappropriate and was more cautious of her mother as if she could see his thoughts through his head.

Quasimodo was unable to eat, sleep or even go about his day without feeling sick. What he felt was awful yet wonderful at the same time. He couldn't breathe sometimes when Safira was around but he almost didn't care. All he knew was that every time she wasn't around – which wasn't often – he was unable to stop thinking about her or worrying about her.

He needed to know what ailed him. He needed to speak to Esmeralda immediately.

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 **Author's Note:**

I think we've all been in Quasimodo's position, am I right?

What will become of their friendship?

Stay tuned and find out!

Reviews, flames, critique and/or praise is welcome.

~ Laruto


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

" _For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not_ _from the Father but is from the world."_

1 John 2:16

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Minister of Justice Leopold Bonhomme stood in his office within the Palace of Justice, both Phoebus and Safira standing before him. When the new minister had been appointed, his first command was to summon the legendary French soldiers. Safira had been greatly worried, fearing the worst. Though Phoebus had assured her he would let nothing happen to her, Safira already accepted the fact that she would have to face trial for her crimes.

When Safira had been brought to meet Leopold, she had expected someone as cold and calculating as Frollo. It threw her off when she looked upon an elderly man whose warm smiled reached his earth-brown eyes. Despite his gentle demeanor, she remained wary as he spoke to them in a strong, booming voice.

"I have heard a great deal about you two," Leopold informed them knowingly, "Phoebus, your service record is quite impressive though that doesn't surprise me considering your notable military lineage. Your father would be extremely proud."

"Thank you, sir," Phoebus spoke respectfully, his posture that of a proud soldier.

Leopold then turned his eyes towards Safira who resisted the urge to flinch. Masking her emotions masterfully, she stood as proud and strong as Phoebus.

"And you, Lady Safira," He addressed her properly, "You have created quite a stir amongst France; the legendary Black Soldier who was exposed to be the missing daughter of the famous Captain Frederick de Chataupers. It makes for quite a story, doesn't it?"

She wasn't sure how to respond so she opted for silence. She watched with anticipative eyes as Leopold pulled a scroll from his sleeve and rolled it down and began to read out loud:

"Offenses include: impersonation of a soldier, insubordination, providing aid to criminal citizens, leaving jurisdiction of the court, murder of at least ten French soldiers."

Safira met the judge's gaze as he looked up from his scroll. Phoebus worriedly interjected.

"Your Honor, if I may-"

Leopold held his hand up, signaling that he did not wish to hear what Phoebus had to say. Phoebus pursed his lips, remaining silent.

"Simply one of these charges is enough to send you both to the gallows," Leopold spoke not unkindly, "Have you anything to say?"

Safira had accepted her fate the moment she knew she was summoned. She had no qualms about what she did and she would be damned if she plead for her life.

"I regret nothing," She spoke firmly.

"Oh?" Leopold raised an eyebrow, seeming amused.

"No, sir," She confirmed, "I fought for what was just even if sacrifices had to be made."

He turned to Phoebus now, awaiting his response.

"I agree, sir," Phoebus responded firmly.

Leopold looked back and forth between the siblings.

"You sacrificed your career and reputation. It nearly cost you your life," He agreed slowly before he continued with a warm smile, "And it was done for the city of Paris. If that's not a worthy pair of soldiers, I don't know what is."

Phoebus and Safira exchanged surprised glances before turning back to the judge. They watched in amazement as Leopold ripped up the scroll of her charges.

"S-Sir?" She questioned him, her face revealing her confusion.

"I say someone who would be willing to give up everything for our city's peace and safety is allowed some sort of immunity. Wouldn't you agree, Captain Phoebus?"

"Yes, sir," Phoebus breathed out in relief, smiling broadly.

"Now, while I would have Phoebus remain as Captain of the Guards, I would be honored if you would be a part of my council."

Safira's eyes widened at the incredible offer. She looked towards Phoebus who met her confused glance with an unwavering smile. She turned back to the judge with great hesitation.

"With all due respect, your honor, I can't accept such a generous offer-"

"Of course you can!" Leopold exclaimed loudly, a gentle smile on his weary face, "In fact, I insist upon it!"

Safira was dumbstruck. She cleared her throat, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I… Thank you, my lord."

"No, my lady," He nodded humbly, "Thank you."

They were dismissed soon after and as Safira walked with Phoebus outside the Palace of Justice, she remained in a state of awe. Phoebus laughed joyously as he brought Safira into his arms, swinging her around before setting the dazed woman onto her feet.

"Look at you!" He laughed boisterously, "I don't think I've ever seen you speechless!"

"I'm still trying to grasp that I'm not going to be hanged," She admitted, bringing her hand to her neck as if she had felt the rope around it.

"What do you say we celebrate, Councilwoman Safira?" Phoebus slung an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the nearest tavern.

"Whatever you say, Captain Phoebus," She smirked, her arm draping off his waist.

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Quasimodo approached Esmeralda after her dance performance was over. The crowd was cheering as she ran off the stage, the gypsy men who played their instruments collecting the coins that they would split afterwards.

"Esmeralda!" He approached her seemingly out of nowhere, startling the gypsy.

"Quasi?" She noted his anxiousness immediately, "Is everything okay?"

"I was wondering if you and I could speak… in private?"

"Of course," She guided him towards her tent.

As soon as they walked in, Quasimodo pulled a chair and sat down. She frowned at his restlessness, never having seen him so worked up before.

"What's going on?" She sat down across from him.

"I was hoping you could tell me," He admitted worriedly, "I haven't felt like myself."

"What are you feeling?" She pressed.

He struggled for a moment to get the words out, never having felt this way. He attempted to describe how he felt the best he could.

"I feel like I'm sick. My stomach feels tight, my throat gets dry, breathing is nearly impossible."

"When does this happen?" She frowned curiously.

"All the time," He ran a hand through his hair, "I can't eat or sleep."

Her brow puckered worriedly, "Have you been bled*?"

"I have," He nodded, "Nothing's changed."

"How long has this been going on?" She pressed further.

He blew his hair out of his face as he thought.

"I want to say it was after Frollo's death…" He frowned suddenly, "Do you think it has anything to do with that?"

"It could be," She rubbed her chin curiously before a knowing look crossed her face, "Do you notice that this… feeling… is stronger sometimes than it is other times?"

"Yes!" He exclaimed, "I felt that way last night when Safira and I went for our evening walk."

"Can you think of another time?"

"Um…" He rubbed his head as he thought back, "It happened the day before when Safira was trying to teach me to play darts. It also happened after dinner that night at Lady Chandra's house when Safira and I were cleaning the dishes."

A knowing look graced Esmeralda's face as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together. Quasimodo's symptoms were that of euphoria and it happened to spontaneously grow stronger around Safira's presence? It was no coincidence. As he watched him try and figure out what was wrong with him, she felt a small smile tugging at her lips.

Quasimodo was in love and he didn't even know it. She leaned forward to take his hands in hers.

"What I think you should do is when it happens again, stop and look at your surroundings. Try and figure out what's causing it and when you figure it out, confront whatever it is."

Judging by the look on his face, he was obviously confused. He wished she had more to offer him than a cryptic message.

"That's all I can offer for now," She spoke with feigned regret.

"Well, thank you," He offered a disappointed smile, "I-I guess I better head back to the bell tower."

"I'll see you tonight for the wedding rehearsal," She reminded him as he began to walk out.

"See you tonight!" He assured her.

Esmeralda watched him walk to off towards the cathedral with a soft smile.

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"Another round of drinks on me!" Phoebus exclaimed loudly in the tavern, earning cheers from the drunks.

Safira and Phoebus downed enough whiskey amongst themselves to inebriate several men. She and Phoebus laughed hysterically as they exchanged military stories and reminiscing about the time Esmeralda had thrown herself at Safira when she thought she had been a man.

"How does it feel to know your future wife pined for your sister?" Safira laughed loudly.

"The same way you feel about your first kiss coming from a woman!"

The crowd listening to them joined their laughter. They were too drunk to realize that revealing that to the men in the tavern would eventually reach a very angry Esmeralda. It had begun with only a few drinks until Phoebus challenged Safira to a drinking game which she took very seriously. Before they were even finished, they had forgotten about the game.

"I shouldn't even be drinking," Safira spoke but not before downing one more shot of whiskey, "I've been very sick."

"Sick?" Phoebus looked at her with a frown, "With what?"

"I don't know," She tried to rub the dizziness from her eyes, "I haven't slept very well for a couple of weeks now and I always feel like I want to throw up but I never do."

Phoebus had no chance to ask further questions when a fellow soldier approached them excitedly.

"Phoebus?! Holy Hell, it's Phoebus de Chataupers!"

Phoebus turned to face the familiar soldier and greeted him with equal excitement, bringing him into a strong bear hug. Safira looked towards the soldier, frowning as a nagging feeling in the back of her head as she tried to remember where she knew this man. Phoebus slung his arm around the soldier's shoulder as he turned to Safira.

"Safira, this is Dimitri Savatier, we were combat partners!"

"Oh, I know who this is," Dimitri flashed a charming smile towards Safira, "Don't you remember me?"

Safira studied his face pensively for a while before he began to give her hints.

"Dimitri?" He questioned expectantly, "You trained our Russian Base soldiers?"

Her face remained blank.

"I was the guy who accidentally shot the fire arrow to your tent during training?"

"Oh!" Safira exclaimed with sudden remembrance, "Yes, the moron!"

"Yes, yes!" Dimitri exclaimed with drunken laughter before turning to Phoebus, "Your sister was the toughest Captain I had ever seen!"

"Is that so?" Phoebus raised an eyebrow as he pushed Dimitri off of him in what was supposed to be a playful shove but the imbalanced man fell to the ground like a heavy sack.

Safira rolled her eyes as Phoebus knelt down to help the clumsy man up. Dimitri brushed himself off before addressing Phoebus once more.

"I hear you're getting married!" Dimitri announced, "Congratulations! Where is the little lady right now?"

Phoebus and Safira looked at each for a brief moment before the realization dawned on them. Safira gasped as Phoebus cursed loudly.

"The wedding rehearsal!" Phoebus slammed his first on the bar.

"Let's go!" Safira bolted out of the bar.

"Sorry, we got to go!" Phoebus shouted as he ran after Safira.

Dimitri stared after them in bewilderment, shaking his head before returning to his companions.

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Esmeralda, Chandra and Quasimodo waited inside of the cathedral along with the members of their wedding which consisted mainly of gypsies as well as the archdeacon. Esmeralda was growing more and more worried as were Chandra and Quasimodo. As much as the archdeacon hated to inform the bride of their dilemma, he eventually approached her.

"Our evening mass will start soon," He informed her politely, "I'm afraid we will have to reschedule the rehearsal."

It was the last thing Esmeralda wanted to hear. With their wedding being a little over a week away, the chances of getting a proper rehearsal within that time period was near to impossible.

"Oh, dear, what's taking them so long?" Chandra breathed out anxiously.

"I don't know," Esmeralda replied with equal apprehension, "They were called to the Palace of Justice and they said they'd be out in time."

"I should go look for them," Quasimodo offered.

"That's a good idea," Chandra nodded, "I'll let everyone know the rehearsal is cancelled."

Quasimodo rushed out of the cathedral, unsure of where to head first. But it turned out he didn't have to search far. Safira and Phoebus' horses were trotting furiously towards the cathedral. Quasimodo brought his hands up in alarm when their horse's reigns were pulled into a skidding stop, bringing alarmed neighs from the beasts.

Safira had been unprepared for the sudden stop and was thrown off her horse, landing harshly on the ground.

"Safira!" Quasimodo approached the now unconscious woman.

His nostrils stung with the strong smell of bourbon as he scooped her up. He glared up at Phoebus as he cradled the sleeping woman in his arms.

"Where have you been?!" Quasimodo demanded angrily, "The rehearsal was over an hour ago! Now it has to be cancelled!"

"Ugh, I know, I know," Phoebus slid off his horse clumsily, trying his best to shake off his drunkenness.

"Are you drunk?!" Quasimodo exclaimed with wide eyes.

"We were celebrating! We were only going to have a couple," Phoebus slurred before looking towards the cathedral anxiously, "How mad is Esmeralda?"

"She's pretty mad," He glowered disapprovingly at the blonde, "I'm taking Safira to the bell tower. Her mother is upset enough, she doesn't need to see her like this."

"What about me?!" Phoebus exclaimed with wide eyes.

"You're on your own."

Phoebus stared wide-eyed at Quasimodo's retreating form as the redhead snuck around the cathedral.

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Safira had woken up just as Quasimodo was carrying her quietly through the south tower, away from the wedding party. She opened her eyes slowly and was met with the fuzzy sight of the stern-looking hunchback. If she thought she could walk on her own, she would have slid out of his grip.

"Are we late?" She questioned him sluggishly.

He glanced down at her, unable to hide his displeasure with her.

"You're more than late," His no-nonsense tone didn't have the effect he intended to have on Safira.

She stared up at him with glossy eyes, taking in his tone and facial expression. It didn't match the amount of gentleness he held her in his arms as he brought her to the bell tower. He immediately brought her to his bedroom, closing the door behind them with a kick of his foot. He only hoped Lady Chandra or Esmeralda didn't try to come and check on her.

"Are you angry with me?" She asked as he lay her down on his bed.

"Yes."

"How mad?" She pressed, biting her lower lip as she smiled.

Her careless humor at the situation was rubbing him the wrong way. He frowned down at her reproachfully. He settled for a one-word answer, fearful that he would snap if he said anything more.

"Very."

He was ready to leave her in her drunken state, turning towards the door but she reached for him, grabbing his tunic. He gasped as he was pulled fiercely against her, his hands coming to rest on the bed behind her head to keep himself from falling on her. He looked down at her wide-eyed, his lower body pressing against hers.

"Let me make it up to you," She whispered huskily.

"Safira-"

His words were cut off as she yanked him down, crushing his lips against hers in a clumsy, hard kiss. Quasimodo's eyes widened as her eyes closed; he was now looking at long, curled lashes. She put every ounce of passion she had into her kiss, soft moans of contentment escaping her lips. Quasimodo remained frozen, unsure of what to do. The taste of alcohol on her lips was not unpleasant. His own eyes began to slowly close but when he felt her tongue brush boldly against his lips in search of his, he pulled away frantically.

"N-No, Safira," He leaned back and took her wrists, firmly removing them from his shirt.

He gasped weakly as she sat up and began to crawl over his form, pushing him onto his back. Her hands ran up his chest and into his auburn hair. He closed his eyes, his heart racing as she her thighs hugged his hips.

"Kiss me," She bade him fervently, her eyes dark with an unfamiliar emotion.

He blinked slowly at the effect her words had on him, rendering him powerless. He hesitantly brought his hands to her upper back, holding her gently against him. She rolled her hips sensually against his, bringing a low pant out of the hunchback. He closed his eyes slowly as he felt her pull against his tunic once more. Her lips met his in a deep kiss and he was unable to hold back any longer.

He gathered her fiercely in his embrace, returning her kiss passionately. The taste of her tongue against his brought a rumbling groan from deep in his throat. Their breathing built up into soft pants, bringing a jolt in between Quasimodo's legs that he had never felt before. It startled him enough to wake him from the trance she put him in.

Using every ounce of willpower he had, he brought his hands gently to her face and had to nearly tear her off of him. She placed her hands on his wrists, looking down at him sleepily as he tried to calm his breathing.

"Safira-"

She fell forward against him, her body limp.

He blinked in alarm, the sound of her light snoring signaling to him that she had passed out for good. He bit his lower lip, his brow furrowing, as he gently slid her off of him. He laid her head onto his pillow, brushing her hair out of her sleeping face with a low sigh. He shook his head as he tried to ignore the bodily reactions she had brought out of him.

Despite the sinfully sweet spell she had over him, he was relieved she had fallen asleep for he had been too weak to resist her and to allow her to continue in her inebriated state would be unforgivable. As he pulled back from her, he felt a deep wave of shame wash over him as he looked down at the unconscious girl. With great effort, he refocused his attention from his current state of lust and back to the genuine concern he felt for her.

With shaking hands, he slid off the bed and pulled his blanket over her, hastily making his way out.

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 **Author's Note:**

I apologize for the late update!

I hope the long-awaited first kiss makes up for it. I think we all know who the dominant one in the relationship would be. =P

I wanted to emphasize the sensuality of their first romantic kiss because I feel people forget that Quasimodo - despite his "deformities" - is still a human man with natural feelings and emotions. We tend to forget that those different than us aren't actually so different.

~ Laruto

*Bloodletting: Withdrawal of blood from a patient to cure illnesses (popular in Medieval times; thank you to kamikaze-djali for your helpful feedback!)


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _"But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire."_

James 1:14

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To say Esmeralda had been furious would be an understatement. She hadn't called off the wedding but no one would have blamed her if she had. Chandra was even more outraged when she learned that her children had been drinking himself to intoxication just hours before the rehearsal. As best as Phoebus and Quasimodo tried to keep Safira out of it, word spread around town of the siblings who had bought round after round of drinks at the popular tavern.

When Safira finally woke up, she felt like she was dying. Esmeralda and Chandra had taken one look at her and decided her state of illness was punishment enough. Phoebus, on the other hand, received an earful from both his future wife and mother. While Chandra and Esmeralda focused on Phoebus, Quasimodo had plenty to say to Safira yet found it difficult to even look her in the eye.

After the previous night, he had been unable to sleep. His mind was haunted with sinful thoughts of the woman who was supposed to be his best friend. Their living situation now seemed scandalous after what had occurred between them.

She had stayed in the bell tower the remainder of the day, sick to her stomach. She only left her room when she was sure she was done heaving. When she made her presence known to Quasimodo, he almost changed his mind about lecturing her when he saw how miserable she truly looked. But the memory of how she had flung off her horse and knocked herself into unconsciousness refueled his anger towards her.

"I feel like I'm dying," Were the first words she spoke to him as she sat on the nearest chair.

Quasimodo worked on the wedding cake topper of Esmeralda and Phoebus he was making without so much as a glance at her.

"It serves you right," He grumbled lowly, his heart beating slightly faster in her presence.

She had seen Quasimodo angry before and knew he was very angry right now. He could barely look her in the eye though she had no idea it was more than just mild anger. He wanted to talk about what had happened but she seemed to have no recollection of what had happened between them; Quasimodo felt an odd combination of relief and deep disappointment.

She sighed as she rubbed her eyes before resting them on her temples. Her own heart skipped when vivid pictures of her dreams came back to her; though it had been nothing but a drunken, lustful dream, she could almost feel Quasimodo's lips against hers. Looking at him now, those images replayed in her head – she swallowed her spit at the sudden urge to make that dream a reality in that moment.

She cleared her throat loudly, a bizarre insecurity surrounding her as she pushed the images out of her head.

"I'm sorry we missed the rehearsal, I'll make it up to Esmeralda somehow."

He stopped what he was doing to look up at her with a dark frown. Judging from the look on her face, he could only conclude that she, indeed, had no memory of what happened last night. He felt a surge of pained anger build up.

"You think I'm angry because you missed the rehearsal?"

"Well, of course," She shrugged, "Why else would you be angry?"

"Oh, I don't know," He put his project down to direct his displeasure at her fully, "Do you remember anything at all about last night?"

She shook her head slowly as she thought back. The last thing she remembered was riding to the cathedral before everything went black. She vaguely remembered being carried somewhere but nothing further. Judging by the look on Quasimodo's face, something unpleasant must have occurred between them. Having previously been known to be an angry drunk, she thought the worst.

"Was I cruel to you?" She frowned worriedly.

"No," He sighed frustratingly as he stood up, "Just forget it."

She watched with wide eyes as he stormed out of the bell tower and out onto the balcony. She followed him quickly, grabbing a hold of his arm. She yanked him back, forcing the other to face her.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?" She demanded with a dark frown, "It's not like I haven't drunken before!"

"Well before you didn't fly off your horse and nearly break your neck!" He pulled his arm back from her.

She blinked at him confusedly, "I don't remember that."

It hurt him to know she didn't remember anything. What it mean to him was that if she hadn't been plastered, she never would have kissed him. The realization brought a heaviness to his heart that only fueled his resentment.

"Of course not," He continued heatedly, "You fell so hard you passed out! You could have been seriously hurt, you know!"

"Okay," She began with a shrug, her indifferent tone infuriating him, "I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to hear it!" His voice raised considerably, "From the moment I met you, I have spent every minute worrying about you! If you have no regard for your own safety then maybe I shouldn't either!"

He stormed away from her, leaving a very bewildered Safira to soak in her guilt.

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"If it makes you feel any better, I feel like hell," Phoebus spoke to his fuming fiancé.

"It helps a little," She admitted tightly.

He sighed as he lay in bed, a wet towel on his head as Esmeralda sat by his side. When he had woken up, he had immediately been consumed with guilt; of course, after he had been done throwing up the excess alcohol. His mother had just left his house but not before giving him a severe talking-to. Even his news of why Safira and he had been celebrating in the first place had not been enough to appease Esmeralda and Chandra. They couldn't even be happy for them in the state of fury they were in.

"How is Safira?" Phoebus asked hesitantly.

"As miserable as you are," Esmeralda raised an eyebrow unsympathetically.

"This was all my fault," Phoebus sighed heavily, closing his eyes as his head throbbed, "She shouldn't even be drinking with how sick she's been."

Esmeralda narrowed her eyes, "She's been sick?"

"Yes. Apparently she's been very nauseated and unable to sleep for weeks."

"Is that so…?"

Esmeralda rubbed her chin, her anger with her fiancé momentarily forgotten. She thought back to yesterday when Quasimodo had anxiously approached her, seeking a diagnosis for his mysterious ailment and it seemed Safira suffered from the same symptoms. Either the two clueless beings were unknowingly in love with each other or there was some illness that only seemed to affect people who lived in bell towers.

"Oh God," Phoebus groaned before turning to his side and heaving into the bucket set by his bed.

Esmeralda sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes as she pushed her thoughts aside to tend to Phoebus.

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Safira's reaction to the outfit she would wear to the wedding was exactly what Chandra had expected.

"No. Absolutely not."

Chandra raised her eyebrows in mock surprise as she held out the beautiful dress to Safira. The fireplace inside of Chandra's home provided warmth yet somehow Safira felt an odd chill at the stare her mother was giving her now.

"You said you would do anything to make it up to Esmeralda for your boorish behavior."

"I will," Safira assured her, "But not by wearing that."

"Esmeralda made it clear to me that she would love for you to wear this but had reconsidered after knowing how much you would dislike it."

"Esmeralda said that?" Safira questioned skeptically.

"Yes she did," Chandra began to pack the dress, "But, I will let her know that you were unwilling-"

"Give it to me!" Safira snatched it harshly from Chandra with a scowl.

Chandra had to hold back her smile when Safira retreated into the bedroom to change. Esmeralda had actually said no such thing but when Safira insisted she would do anything to make it up to her future sister-in-law, Chandra took the opportunity.

It had been a month after meeting her daughter, having begun a slow-building friendship. Much to Chandra's displeasure, Safira addressed her by her first name. She hated it but kept her feelings to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was push Safira way but being too insistent. As she got to know the woman who was her daughter, she was continuously shocked by her behavior. Being the conservative and well-educated woman that she was, Chandra found her tomboy behavior and apparel scandalous. She was waiting for an opportunity like now to get Safira in a dress.

Chandra waited for what felt like a long time before she approached the bedroom and knocked on the door.

"Safira?"

The irate woman's muffled voice came through the door.

"I'm not coming out."

"Don't be silly!" Chandra exclaimed, "It's more appropriate to be wearing this than what you usually wear."

"I've never been known to be appropriate," Safira's spoke through the wooden door.

"Come out or I will come in there!" Chandra threatened her.

She heard what sounded like a heavy sigh before the door began to slowly open. Chandra squealed at the sight of Safira in the simple but incredibly flattering taupe dress. It hung off her form in such a way that curves Chandra never knew Safira had made themselves known. The off-the-shoulder sleeves revealed surprisingly elegant shoulders as they slid down to her wrists. The sweetheart neckline showed off what was a generous bust. The only thing that would have made it better if it didn't look like Safira's face was ready to explode.

"Darling, you look exquisite!"

Safira's face was so hot, it stung her cheeks. She was as stiff as a board as her mother examined her. She would rather have faced a thousand soldiers single-handedly with no weapon than to be where she was now.

"Oh, do relax, dear!" Chandra frowned disapprovingly, "It distracts from your dress."

"God, take me now…" Safira grumbled to herself, closing her eyes.

Whether her mother heard her or not, Chandra went on as if she hadn't.

"Esmeralda will be excited to know that you loved the dress she chose for you!"

"Great," Safira spoke blankly, "Can I take it off now?"

"Yes, go ahead, I'll make us some tea."

Chandra rushed to prepare their tea as Safira anxiously ran into the bedroom to remove the dress. Safira closed the door, pressing her back against the door. She closed her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her forehead as her troubled thoughts flooded back. Since her spat with Quasimodo that morning, she had been unable to think of anything else.

She was conflicted with the guilt brought by his words and the aching desire that consumed her when she remembered her corrupted dreams. She walked slowly to stand in front of the long mirror, staring at her reflection. She studied her form as she began to slowly slide out of the dress until it fell to her feet, standing stark naked.

Never having taken the time to look at her womanly body, she felt an inexplicable desire to do so now. Years of keeping herself concealed resulted in nearly flawless skin tone, no sun damage but a good amount of battle scars; both large and small. She was as pale as the moon itself with only her rosy nipples providing any color to her body. She turned around and looked over her shoulder at her back. She noted the ugly scar that developed over her shoulder where she had been pierced by an arrow by one of Frollo's soldiers along with several others that marred her beauty.

She rubbed her arms self-consciously, looking away from her reflection. It was difficult to look at herself and assign a gender. Was she a woman or a man? She thought to Esmeralda and how she oozed feminine beauty and sensuality. Safira was nothing like her. She was rough around the edges; she walked, talked and carried herself like a man with booming confidence and authority. In her eyes, there was nothing about her that any man could possibly find attractive – not even Quasimodo.

She grabbed her clothes and began to put them on with a heavy sigh. She realized her dream was nothing but a taunting reminder that her growing feelings for Quasimodo were a waste of time; she suddenly felt very foolish for having such thoughts. He was not your typical man but he was still a man and what did every man want? A submissive, feminine, well-mannered and well-tempered wife. He deserved no less. She forced those thoughts out of her head as she exited the bedroom to join Chandra in the living area.

As Chandra sat, she mixed the sugar cubes in their tea. She looked up and noted the obvious tension on Safira. Chandra recognized the way her brow tensed, wrinkling the skin as her husband used to do when he was in deep thought.

"Have a seat, dear," Chandra motioned towards the chair across from her, "Is everything alright?"

Safira sat down as Chandra handed Safira hers before sitting back and taking a sip of her own. Safira decided to feign ignorance.

"What do you mean?" Safira questioned her mother.

"You seem a bit distracted, dear," She couldn't help but notice, "Is something on your mind?"

Quasimodo's angry words echoed in Safira's head.

" _From the moment I met you, I have spent every minute worrying about you! If you have no regard for your own safety then maybe I shouldn't either!"_

"No," Safira lied as she brought the cup to her lips, taking a sip of the sweetened tea.

"Are you sure?" Chandra pressed on, seeing the distraction in Safira's eyes.

"I'm sure," The other insisted, tapping on her cup pensively.

Chandra observed her daughter's body language and could have sworn her late husband were sitting before her. She was slumped back on the chair improperly, her legs sprawled. She almost smiled. Though Safira looked like Chandra, it was her father's personality she shared. He had been a stubborn and passionate man, known for his temper and pride. Safira and Frederick were unlike Phoebus who had his mother's gentler, more patient nature.

"Is it okay if I stay with you for a while?"

Chandra blinked in surprise at Safira's sudden question. She nearly choked on the tea she had just sipped on, coughing slightly. She nodded eagerly as she set her cup down onto the tray.

"O-Of course, dear. Is everything alright with Quasimodo?"

"I'm afraid he's a bit upset with me over yesterday," Safira was looking down at her tea expressionlessly.

"I can't say I blame him," Chandra spoke softly, eyeing her curiously, "We're all pretty upset with you and Phoebus."

"No, it's… different," Safira tried to explain, "I've never seen him so angry."

"Darling, I'm sure he just needs time to cool off," Chandra could see the effect this was having on Safira.

Safira had remained carelessly stone-faced when she and Esmeralda had scolded her for what she had done. Yet it seemed even knowing Quasimodo was disappointed in her brought distress to the usually indifferent woman.

"Which is what I plan to give him. Some space will do us good."

"That might not bad idea," Chandra straightened her shoulders suddenly, "Truth be told, I'm not very fond of your living situation."

Safira looked up now confusedly, "What do you mean?"

"Quite frankly, dear, living with a man outside of wedlock is highly inappropriate," Chandra spoke in a huff, "I have only bitten my tongue because, after all, it's Quasimodo."

Chandra's words brought a visible changed to Safira who straightened up in her chair. She leaned forward, raising an eyebrow at her mother.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Safira set her cup down on the table.

"Nothing, dear," Chandra assured her, "I'm just confident that your living situation is just as innocent as your friendship."

"What makes you so sure?"

Safira was beginning to get defensive and Chandra noticed. Chandra mirrored her daughter's actions and raised her own eyebrow questionably.

"Isn't it?"

"I don't know," Safira leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a smirk, "You tell me."

"Safira…" Chandra spoke warningly, all amusement gone.

"Oh, come on," Safira finally chuckled, "I'm joking."

"I don't enjoy that humor," Chandra stared hard at her, "I don't like the idea of a man lusting after my daughter-"

"Chandra, please-" Safira's face twisted into that of discomfort at the uncomfortable turn of the subject.

"You are a beautiful woman, after all, I can imagine the thought has crossed that boy's head at least once-"

"Chandra!" Safira exclaimed, standing up now with scorching cheeks.

"What?" Chandra looked up at her with innocently wide eyes.

Safira rolled her eyes as she began to walk towards the door. Chandra stood, looking after her worriedly.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get my things from the cathedral," Safira grumbled as she reached the door but not before looking back at Chandra sarcastically, "I'll be back after Quasimodo and I have finished ravishing each other."

Chandra's death glare could've frozen Hell.

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Quasimodo had been anxiously waiting in the bell tower for Safira's return. The sun was already close to setting and he was getting more and more worried. He lost his temper that morning and hoped she knew that he truly didn't mean what he said. He didn't mind worrying about her or making sure she was safe. If anything, he felt it was his new purpose in life to look after the blue-eyed maiden who haunted his dreams every night.

It had been his hurt speaking for him. From the moment she left the bell tower that morning, he had been struggling with a mix of emotions. The scorching feel of her hot lips remained seared on his skin like white-hot burns that branded him as hers. The feel and smell of her soft hair against his face, the sensual grinding of her hips against his as she sought his manhood. She had awoken the carnal desires he didn't even know he had.

He had only known the temptations of the flesh based off of whatever Frollo had taught him through the Bible. Quasimodo had never known what it was like to truly desire a woman. He had admired Esmeralda's beauty and for a moment he had even thought he had fallen for her. But her sweet friendship hadn't allowed for him to delve deeper into his feelings as he had done with Safira. The blue-eyed vixen had quite literally thrown herself at him and he achingly replayed it in his mind over and over.

When Safira arrived, she found Quasimodo deep in his thoughts at his desk, head in his hands. The sound of her footsteps brought his eyes up. He looked at her emotionless face with wide eyes, standing from where he sat.

"Safira-"

She looked away from him passively, walking towards her area of the bell tower.

"I won't be long," She assured him before she began to gather the few items of clothing she had.

He watched her confusedly as she went out of sight only to come back out with an armful of men's trousers and blouses. He began to walk towards her, his eyes wide as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

"I'm staying with Chandra for a while."

He looked at her as if she had slapped him in the face.

"What..?"

She kept her eyes on her clothes as she folded them. It was difficult enough to do this, it was even more difficult when he looked at her the way he did now.

"I don't want to bring you anymore worry," She spoke matter-of-factly.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier," He assured her, grabbing the trousers she was holding mid-fold.

She finally looked at him and when her expression didn't change, it was bringing a sense of panic. He wasn't used to this calm and impassive Safira. He knew how to handle the temperamental one but was at a loss right now.

"Whether you meant it or not, I realized you were right," She reached for her trousers, "I can't live here forever."

He let the article of clothing slide through his hands slowly.

"You could," He spoke so softly she had almost not heard him.

She felt a blow in her heart at his words; it was both painful and touching.

"No, I couldn't," She denied with a shake of her head, "We can't hold each other back from pursuing our lives by remaining attached to the hip."

Quasimodo wanted to tell her that there was no place he would rather be than by her side. He didn't want to live in the bell tower alone anymore. The night she had first been driven out by Frollo's soldiers, he had been consumed with loneliness in her absence. The thought of having to go through that again was too painful to bear.

"Don't go," His tone held a soft sadness that tore at Safira's heart.

She remained stoic, even offered a smile despite her heart ache.

"I'm still going to be around, you know."

Her words brought no comfort to him but he could sense she was adamant about her decision. He had no choice but to accept it, no matter how hard it was. He used every bit of willpower he had to wring a smile through his sadness.

"Yeah… I-I know."

Safira tore her eyes off of him. When she had entered the bell tower, she had almost changed her mind upon seeing him. She didn't know when her romantic feelings began to develop but she knew it changed everything. The man she lived with was no longer her just her best friend. He was now her best friend whom she had fallen for. Her physical and emotional draw to him made for a tense environment and the last thing she wanted to do was cause strain on their friendship with an unrequited love.

As she finished packing the last of her belongings into a large satchel, she slung it over her shoulder.

"See you at the wedding," Safira nodded curtly.

Quasimodo watched helplessly as she turned his back to him. He stared at her retreating form until she stopped right at the bell tower steps. She looked over her shoulder at him, a smirk gracing her lush lips.

"By the way… I'm wearing a dress to the wedding."

"Ouch," Quasimodo winced playfully, "They must have been madder than I thought."

Safira's laughter echoed through the bell tower as she descended down the stairs.

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 **Author's Note:**

I will try my best to remain historically accurate in this story but in all reality, the movie wasn't exactly perfectly true to its time so forgive my minor errors.

Don't forget to leave your thoughts, analysis, predictions, etc. etc. I love hearing from you all!

~ Laruto


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

" _Do everything in love."_

1 Corinthians 16:14

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The next couple of days became very difficult for both Quasimodo and Safira. They found that getting used to their living situations would take a lot more time than they thought. Chandra had noticed the change in Safira but didn't wish to upset her daughter by bringing it up. Esmeralda, on the other hand, visited Quasimodo the day before the wedding and saw for herself the effect of having Safira leave had on him.

He smiled and greeted Esmeralda excitedly like the norm but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Even now as they sat together in the bell tower, she watched him with scrutinizing eyes.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to stop by," She smiled gently.

"Don't be," He returned her smile with a small one of his own, "I know how busy you've been. Where's Phoebus anyway?"

"He and Safira are assisting Chandra with the flower arrangements," Esmeralda answered with a smug grin.

"She must have had to drag them kicking and screaming," He chuckled at the very thought.

"He has no choice in the matter," Esmeralda raised an eyebrow, "After missing the wedding rehearsal, he and Safira have taken on the duty of finishing the remainder of the arrangements so that Chandra and I can rest."

"I can only imagine Safira trying to pick out a flower arrangement," Quasimodo grinned, shaking his head at the very thought, "I wouldn't be surprised if you receive swords adorned in daisies."

Esmeralda laughed softly before addressing him with genuine concern.

"How have you been?"

"O-Oh, I've been fine," He assured her with yet another false smile.

"Have your symptoms gotten better?" She questioned him.

"More or less," He shrugged.

Esmeralda noted his discomfort with the subject as he swiftly changed it.

"I hear Safira is wearing a dress to the wedding," He smiled at Esmeralda, "That was pretty harsh of you, you know."

"It was Chandra's idea," Esmeralda smirked, "Maybe it will help her learn her lesson. Have you spoken with her recently?"

"I haven't seen her since she went to live with Lady Chandra."

The sadness in Quasimodo's voice was very subtle. One wouldn't have noticed it if they weren't looking for it.

"It's been a big change for both of you," She nodded, "Safira misses it here, you know."

"S-She does?" He looked up surprisingly.

"Oh yes," She pretended not to notice his hopefulness, "She told me she has trouble falling asleep without hearing the bells."

Esmeralda's words brought a soft smile to the hunchback's face.

"It's funny," Quasimodo began with a certain fondness, "When she first came to the cathedral, she hated the bells."

"I can imagine one would be grumpy after being woken up by something so loud."

"Grumpy was her middle name."

Esmeralda chuckled at the memories they shared. She remembered there being a time when Safira's look alone would make Esmeralda uneasy. Now, Safira's glares only brought amusement to the gypsy who had seen the tough girl soften tremendously as time went by.

"It's amazing how much she's changed," Esmeralda added.

"Oh yes," Quasimodo nodded, "There was a point where she never smiled."

As the conversation went on, Esmeralda noted how Quasimodo was incapable of talking about anything else without bringing Safira up at one point. He obviously missed her as much as she missed him.

The gypsy thought back to this morning when she had joined Safira to her final dress fitting.

After they had seen the seamstress, Safira and Esmeralda enjoyed brunch together. They had been sitting at Chandra's home while Chandra and Phoebus ran some wedding errands. Phoebus' words about Safira's "illness" never left Esmeralda and she decided to question the tomboy herself.

"How have you been feeling?" Esmeralda had asked as she held her tea, "Phoebus tells me you've been sick."

"I'm surviving," Safira shrugged, "It's just a bit of nausea that doesn't seem to go away."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Esmeralda spoke with feigned seriousness.

"Only if I've been impregnated by the Holy Spirit."

Esmeralda bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at the inappropriate remark. She chose to change the subject.

"How has it been living with Chandra?"

"Quiet. I'm so used to waking up to the bells. I miss them."

Safira suddenly smiled with such a warmth, it seemed to almost enhance her beauty.

"Do you really?" Esmeralda took a sip of her tea as she watched Safira's face closely.

"I do, I have trouble falling asleep without the deafening sound in my ears. Crazy, isn't it?"

"For you, not so crazy."

Safira chuckled softly as she began to tell stories of her time at the bell tower. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she remembered the time Quasimodo forced her to face her fear of heights or how he had tried to teach her to carve figurines but had failed.

"You know, I've never been able to ring the bells myself," Safira scoffed, "Only someone as freakishly strong as Quasimodo could accomplish that."

"Yes, he is very strong," Esmeralda traced the rim of her cup thoughtfully, a light smile on her lips as she took in the way Safira seemed to glow.

"I remember when we first met," Safira reveled in the fond memories, "I actually tried to kill the poor man."

"What?" Esmeralda blinked, never having heard this story, "You did not!"

"I did," She confirmed, "I was a bit disoriented when I woke up and automatically assumed he worked for Frollo so I attacked him. With just one grip of my wrist, I was already on the floor."

Esmeralda's eyes widened, "I've seen you taken down ten soldiers on your own!"

"What use is a sword if a giant is crushing the wrist you use it with?"

They laughed as they reminisced about the past. It had been very dark times for them but now that it was over, they were able to find the humor in the things that had been overlooked back then. Which reminded Esmeralda of a part of their past that began with her initial attraction to the person she believed to be Sacha Charbonneau.

"You know," Esmeralda's back suddenly stiffened, "I've heard that our stories have been making their way around town. Such as the one about the gypsy who had nearly fallen in love with The Black Soldier."

Safira nearly choked on her tea, coughing as she tried to regain her composure. She cleared her throat loudly as she set the tea down. When she looked up, the harshness on Esmeralda's face almost made her wince.

"You heard that, did you?" Safira began to bounce her knee anxiously.

"I did," Esmeralda raised an annoyed eyebrow.

It had begun as hushed whispers behind her back until she finally confronted a pair of gossipers who hesitantly informed her of what the city was now talking about. She had been embarrassed to find out that Phoebus and Safira had been speaking – quite loudly – about Esmeralda's brief infatuation with Safira at the tavern. When she confronted Phoebus, he had tried to brush it off with humor, much to Esmeralda's annoyance.

As she confronted Safira now, she hoped she would get a more serious response.

"Well…" Safira began slowly as if she were ready to apologize but instead Esmeralda received a devilishly charming smile.

It was as if Sacha were sitting before her in that moment.

"If it makes you feel better, you're a great kisser."

"Oh you!" Esmeralda grabbed a scone and threw it at the laughing girl.

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"You look great," Phoebus smiled at his sister.

"Shut up."

"Mother was right, that dress really brings out your eyes."

"I said shut up."

"No, really! And I never knew your hair was this long-"

"Phoebus!" Safira turned to him, a warning glare painted on her lovely face.

"Oh relax, I mean it," Phoebus brought an arm over her shoulder, unable to contain his grin.

Safira did indeed look beautiful. Her dress had been hemmed to fit her body to perfection. The taupe color complimented the sharp blue of her eyes. Her hair cascaded into pitch-black curls down her back, contrasting against her milky skin. The baggy sleeves covered her arms conservatively, the material gripping her wrists gently. Her hair was kept out of her face by rolling the strands that framed her cheeks and pulled black, allowing her face to shine. Flowers had been pinned to the rolled strands, adding a touch of femininity that she was very uncomfortable with.

"Just calm down," He spoke again when he noted her cheeks had been a scalding red from the moment she walked into the grooms private quarters in the cathedral.

"I am calm," She lied.

How could she possibly be calm when nearly the entire city had been invited to the wedding? It had been such a large guest list that the ceremony was taking place just outside the cathedral in the square. Gypsies and French citizens were gathered outside awaiting the ceremony of the gypsy heroine Esmeralda and the Captain of the Guards who played a part in rescuing the city; there was not a chance that anyone would miss such an event.

Despite the fact that now everyone knew of Safira's true gender, she still prided herself in instilling wariness in even the toughest men. She doubted she would be respected – and feared – as much after today after they bore witness to her in a dress.

"Are you nervous?" Safira changed the subject.

"Not really," Phoebus admitted, "I'm more excited than anything else."

"You should be. Esmeralda is a fine woman."

"Yes, she is," He agreed with a wide grin.

"Speaking of which, I better go make sure she's doing alright," Safira remembered.

Phoebus watched Safira walked towards the door before calling out for her.

"Safira?"

She peered over her shoulder, door on the handle. Phoebus' smile was the most loving she had ever received from him. Phoebus could only dream that the day he got married, his sister would be by his side. The only thing missing right now was the presence of his father.

"I'm glad you're here."

She smiled at him, dimples delving into her rosy cheeks, "Me too."

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From the moment he laid eyes on Safira, Quasimodo was convinced there was nothing more perfect in this world than she. He had been holding his breath as she stood behind Esmeralda at the altar and Quasimodo stood behind Phoebus. He had been unable to even focus on the wedding with Safira only a few feet away and dressed as beautifully as she was. It wasn't until Esmeralda and Phoebus shared their first kiss as husband and wife and the enormous crowd began to cheer that Quasimodo was shaken from his trance.

As the festivities began, he approached Safira who seemed to be indifferent to his presence. She hadn't glanced at him once. He wondered if she was still upset over what he had said. When she noticed he was coming her way, however, she offered him a playful smirk. She glanced at his apparel and took in the formal wear that had been specially made for him as well as the dashing hat he wore.

"Go ahead," She motioned to herself, "Poke fun at me. I deserve no less."

"N-No," Quasimodo shook his head, "You look…"

He struggled to come up with the words, earning a look of skepticism from Safira.

"Ridiculous?" She suggested.

"No!" He assured her, almost panicked, "You look… amazing."

"As do you," She returned the compliment, bringing a flush to his cheeks.

She smiled at him before turning to face the beautiful newlyweds. Her eyes softened as she looked upon the obviously smitten couple. In that moment, Safira felt as if she were in a dream from which she would cruelly wake up to any moment now.

Never in her life did she think she would be where she was now in her life. Before God had guided her to her friends, she was a shell of a woman finding solace in war and destruction. The thought of ever having a family had never even crossed her mind. Yet, here she was, accompanied by a loving mother, a doting brother and devoted friend turned sister-in-law. As she basked in the incredible peace she felt upon looking at her family, she was unaware of the hunchback that gazed at her with such wonder.

Quasimodo loved seeing Safira like this. He could tell when she felt calm because all the harshness from her face disappeared. She became a different person when she let her guard down and with each passing day in her new life, her soul seemed to be growing softer.

Safira turned towards Quasimodo suddenly with a grin, "What do you say we grab a drink?"

At the disapproval on his face, she rolled her eyes and took his hand.

"Just a glass."

"Alright, fine," He grumbled as she guided him, "Just one."

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The festivities continued until night. Safira was surprised she had enjoyed herself as much as she did. Never having danced, she was forcibly pulled onto the dance floor by her brother. She found it came naturally when she put her mindset that the dance floor was a war zone and she was side stepping traps. Phoebus had nearly laughed out loud when she told him of her dance technique.

Her promise to Quasimodo of only having one glass of wine was forgotten when he had a few glasses himself. Phoebus had nearly shoved the wine in Quasimodo's face, insisting that he loosen up and celebrate the happiest day of his life. Quasimodo felt a sense of relaxation that he didn't realize meant he had more than his fair share of wine. He had been having so much fun that he lost count of the number of times wine had been poured into his empty goblet before he downed it swiftly. It took him a while to notice he had lost sight of Safira until he spotted her across the square.

The haze from the wine seemed to die for a moment as he looked upon her conversing with an unknown man. He squinted his eyes as he walked a bit closer, attempting to recognize the face of the stranger but didn't. Quasimodo felt something unknown as he watched Safira laugh at whatever the man had said, her hand pushing at his chest lightly.

Quasimodo hadn't even realized his teeth were clenching or how his hands were rolling into tight fists as the handsome soldier continued to shamelessly flirt with the tipsy woman. Quasimodo wasn't sure what it was but he felt a twinge of distrust towards this man's intentions. Maybe it was the wine but Quasimodo was feeling bold.

He marched towards the pair with every intention of pulling Safira away from him until she spotted him from the corner of her eye. He was thrown off guard when Safira turned to him with a wide smile on his face, reaching out for him.

"Oh, Quasi!" She almost dragged him to her side.

Quasimodo looked towards her curiously then at the hazel-eyed soldier before them.

"Dimitri, this is Quasimodo, my dearest friend," Safira linked her arm with Quasimodo's as she spoke, "Quasimodo, this is Dimitri, he and I were in the military together."

"Pleasure to meet you, Quasimodo," Dimitri offered his hand which Quasimodo took hesitantly.

Dimitri smiled at him politely, flashing perfect teeth. Quasimodo suddenly didn't feel so brave once he took a good look at the intimidatingly handsome man; his shoulder-length hair were waves of rich chocolate-brown, his face was ruggedly handsome as a trace of a dark beard accented his olive-tanned face. His strong and sharp jaw could have probably cut steel, his manly chin dimpled handsomely.

"Safira has told me a lot about you," Dimitri continued, "She is quite fond of you, you know."

Quasimodo wasn't even able to force a smile.

"I know," He responded tersely.

Dimitri's smile faltered as Quasimodo seemed to stare daggers at him. The soldier cleared his throat uncomfortably before he turned to Safira with a courteous nod.

"I really stopped by to congratulate Phoebus, I must bid you good night, Lady Safira," He turned to Quasimodo, "It was a pleasure, Quasimodo."

Quasimodo watched him depart with narrowed eyes. Safira pulled at Quasimodo's arm as they were still linked together. She frowned at him curiously.

"What's wrong? You're as stiff as a board."

"I'm fine," He forced a tight smile as he looked at her.

"Good," She smiled before she began to walk with him back towards the center of the square.

He and Safira remained close as the night went on but Safira found herself growing tired of meeting so many people. She had lived in solitude the majority of her life and though she had enjoyed herself, there was only so much socializing she could handle before she was beginning to feel burnt out. Quasimodo noticed her sudden anxiousness and questioned it.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

"If I'm forced to make small talk with one more stranger, I swear-"

"Come on," He spoke through laughter, taking her hand in his, "Let's take a walk."

She followed him as they slid through the crowd and snuck out towards the city, managing to go unnoticed. They walked in silence as Quasimodo walked her over to the bridge. The music and chatter was growing duller until they were left with nothing but a soft pulse of the far off music. Safira released a sigh of relief as she leaned against the bridge.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yes, better," She spoke as she looked up at the night sky.

"So," Quasimodo cleared his throat, hesitant to address what was on his mind, "That guy is a friend of yours?"

Safira looked towards him thoughtfully, "Who? Dimitri?"

"Y-Yeah," Quasimodo rubbed the back of his head.

"I was his captain back in the day," She smiled lightly, "I trained him at our Russian base."

"I see."

"He didn't like me very much," She chuckled, "I was very hard on him and unfortunately had to send him back home. It's a shame. He had the most potential yet he never quite seemed to reach it."

"He seems to like you now," Quasimodo spoke lowly, bringing an amused sideways glance from Safira who leaned against the bridge as she stared into the river.

"I suppose," She shrugged, "I don't particularly care for him but I promised Chandra I'd be on my best behavior tonight."

It brought Quasimodo a sense of relief to hear that. He relaxed so much so that he was able to take the time to admire her profile. He couldn't help but notice how her hair swayed as the wind began to pick up slightly. His eyes boldly drifted to her shoulders, noting how she was now shivering slightly from the cold.

"Here," He removed his cloak, bringing her attention to him.

She watched as he brought the cloak over her shoulders, adjusting it to ensure she was covered. Safira's lips parted slightly as she looked at him. Their eyes met for a moment and it seemed as if time stood still.

"Quasimodo…" She began softly.

Their breathing became slower and calmer as their bodies seemed to be drifting closer together. Safira felt her throat suddenly become dry as she looked into his turquoise eyes. She shuddered when she realized just how much she wanted to kiss him in that moment.

She was ready to bring her hand against his chest when a clearing of someone's throat behind her brought their eyes in alarm towards the stranger. Safira gasped at the sight of the minister who was looking upon them almost amusedly.

"Judge Leopold!" Safira exclaimed in surprise as she turned fully to face him.

"Good evening, Lady Safira," He nodded politely, "I hope I'm not… interrupting?"

He glanced at Quasimodo curiously. Quasimodo immediately began to stammer nervously.

"N-No, not at all, your honor! I-In fact I was just going back now."

The hunchback began to clumsily hobble off, passing Leopold with a courteous nod. Safira stared after him with a disappointed yearning before bringing her eyes towards the minister. She felt heat radiate up from her neck and to her ears as he smiled at her almost knowingly.

"That was a lovely wedding," Leopold began casually as he walked to stand across from Safira, "And you look quite divine tonight as well, my dear."

Safira tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling timid. She couldn't deny his presence intimidated her and she was not one that was easily intimidated.

"Thank you, my lord," She spoke politely.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation with the bell ringer," He spoke genuinely, "But I had been wanting to approach you all night and when I saw you two walk off by yourselves, I thought it would be a perfect time to speak privately."

"Regarding?"

His voice lowered as he cast a sideways glance towards the party as if he were afraid someone would hear him.

"I have a favor to ask of you," He whispered with utmost seriousness.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

A fleeting look of pain crossed Leopold's face as if he were unsure about what he was about to ask of her.

"Part of me knows it's wrong to even ask this of a councilwoman when I have a perfectly good soldier such as Phoebus," He admitted with a tone of embarrassment, "But this is something that I hold personally."

"What is it, sir?"

Leopold looked at her hesitantly, wondering for a moment if he should continue. Eventually, he did.

"I have an… assignment. One that requires your special set of skills."

Safira's interest was now piqued. Leopold looked towards the wedding party hesitantly before looking back towards her.

"Come, walk with me."

He gestured deeper towards the city. Safira clutched Quasimodo's cloak closer to her form. The judge began to explain his dilemma as they walked.

"I received word of a fugitive that has returned to France. A fugitive that I have been chasing for over fifteen years."

Safira listened intently as the judge continued, his tone somber.

"I met this man while I was still a soldier in my youth. He and I became very good friends; I trusted him. I trusted him so much so that I completely let my guard down. Every intuition I had was thrown out the window as I came to care for him like a brother."

"What did he do, sir?" She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He murdered my daughter."

Safira's eyes widened in alarm but before she could offer any sort of comfort, the judge continued his story.

"We came from a wealthy family. My 'friend', being the petty thief that he was, broke into our home with the intention of taking our valuables. My wife and I hadn't been home but our daughter was. When she woke up and found him, a struggle ensued and she was hurt in the process. My men and I responded the reports of a woman screaming but by the time I arrived, it was too late. She died in my arms… but not before she was able to tell me who her attacker was."

He paused for a moment before he turned to look towards her, sorrow heavy in his eyes. She pitied him so in that moment.

"You know," He smiled sadly, "They say time heals all wounds… but it's not true at all."

"I'm so sorry, your honor," She stopped walking to face him, determination in her eyes, "What must I do?"

"Last I heard, he was seen going through town after town under a different name. Apparently he runs a traveling circus. I doubt he is trying to make a decent living through entertainment and suspect he is still up to his thievery. He is making his way towards Paris and should be here sometime within the next few weeks. I need your unique talents to be able to track him during his stay. Keep an eye on him until he does something worth an arrest."

"Pardon me, sir, but why not just simply arrest him when he arrives to Paris?"

"I cannot arrest him for a crime committed so long ago with no proof other than my memory. I will lose credibility of my judgement," He spoke desolately, "Every time I have him in my grasp, he disappears but I have figured out my mistake: I was far too open with my attack. I need to approach him with great caution. And Lady Safira, your infamous sneak attacks on our war enemies are legendary! You know how to befriend the enemy and bring him down for the greater good!"

Safira felt a sense of pride overwhelm her. After the public humiliation she felt after being forced to wear a dress in front of an entire city, it felt good to know she was still the well-respected and valued soldier she had worked so hard to become in at least one person's eyes. Leopold brought his hands together in a prayer stance as he looked down at her almost pleadingly.

"This is a dangerous task but I wouldn't ask you to do it if I weren't desperate. I have waited fifteen years to avenge my beloved daughter and I need your help doing so. Will you help me, Lady Safira?"

Safira weighed the consequences in her mind. Facing a murderer on her own was something she was not a stranger to. She had done so many times before but it was different now; she had a family. Her time of war and destruction had been put behind her in exchange for a peaceful life. Yet, even as she thought about the possibility of saying no, Quasimodo flashed before her eyes and what she would do if someone had cruelly taken the single most important in her life.

She tilted her chin up, bringing her hand to her forehead in salute.

"It would be an honor, sir."

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 **Author's Note:**

I think anyone whose watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame II knows where I'm going with this.

As far as Safira and Quasimodo's slow-moving relationship, please be patient. They are both complex characters with a lot of inner demons (and adventures) they must face before they are able to admit anything.

Keep calm and read on!

~ Laruto


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

" _Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy?"_

 _Proverbs 27:4_

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"No way!"

Safira pursed her lips in annoyance at Phoebus as he flat out refused to let Safira out of her room. He stood blocking her path, glaring down at his sister who was beginning to think it was a mistake to let him know of Leopold's proposition.

"Phoebus, please stop being so childish-"

"I can't believe you would even agree to something like this!" He scowled at her darkly, "Has he gone mad?! Does he know how dangerous this mission is?! Why doesn't he just let me do my job?!"

Safira placed a hand on Phoebus' shoulder patiently, looking up at him with utmost seriousness.

"Phoebus, what would you do if – Heaven forbid – Esmeralda was taken from you?"

Phoebus exhaled deeply as he looked down at her. He clenched his jaw before he looked away. He knew what she was trying to do. Safira had defended the judge's actions by reiterating what he had told Safira: he wished to go about this discreetly and involving any military action could result in losing the man who called himself Sarousch.

"He needs my help," She insisted, squeezing his shoulder, "We could potentially let a murderer run loose if we don't proceed with caution."

Phoebus closed his eyes briefly before he took Safira's hand in his, running his thumb over the back of her hand. His face was pained as he looked down at their hands, speaking lowly.

"If you get hurt and I up losing you again-"

"You will not lose me," She squeezed his hand reassuringly, bringing his eyes to hers.

She smirked up at him rakishly, raising an eyebrow, "You're talking to The Black Soldier, remember?"

Phoebus wasn't amused.

"No, I'm not. I'm talking to my sister."

"I can take care of myself," She pulled her hand from his and shoved his chest playfully, "Have at least a little faith in me, will you?"

He rubbed his eyes in frustration. They both knew he truly had no say in the matter. He was a mere captain and his duty was to follow the judge's orders.

"So what's the plan?" He sighed heavily, "You can put on your old disguise and fool him but you can't fool an entire city."

"I'll just have to work on a better disguise," She shrugged, "One that not even the people of Paris will recognize me in. We can make it known that Councilwoman Safira is out of town for legal duties and no one will be the wiser."

"You seem to be pretty good at lying," He noted with a frown, crossing his arms sternly over his chest.

"You kind of have to be when you've had to pretend to be a different gender for ten years."

"Point taken," He nodded curtly, "But do you have to start at this moment?"

"The sooner I get into character, the better," She slung her satchel over her shoulder, "Now, will you please let me through? I have someone I need to see."

"Who?" He looked at her skeptically.

"A fellow master of disguise."

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As they stood inside of Esmeralda's tent in the city, the gypsy looked upon Safira with triumph. Safira was looking down at herself, garbed in the outfit Esmeralda had put together. Safira wore baggy black trousers, tucked into her boots. Her large white blouse accented by a red waistcoat. Her hair had been tied back into a low ponytail, a bandana wrapped tightly around her head.

The skeptical woman looked up at the smiling gypsy with a raised eyebrow.

"A pirate?"

"You can't exactly try to pass off as a gypsy," Esmeralda pointed out, "If this man you're trying to catch is a gypsy, chances are he's heard the stories."

"But a pirate?"

"You need to convince this man that you're someone like him to be able to get close to him," Esmeralda pointed out, "A thieving former pirate – with exceptional sword skills – would be someone he would want in his circle."

Safira had to hand it to her, it was pretty brilliant. With this disguise, she would at least be able to carry a sword without raising eyebrows from this fugitive or his band of thieves. It was farfetched but it was crazy enough to work.

"I suppose it's worth a try," Safira relented, "Now all we have to do is work on a background story."

"We'll work on that more tonight after dinner."

"Dinner?" Safira frowned.

"Dinner at your mother's house… Remember?" Esmeralda raised an eyebrow, "The same dinner we have every week?"

"I can't tonight, I have to plan-"

"Safira, this man is not expected to be here for another few weeks," Esmeralda reminded her, "We have plenty of time to figure this out."

Safira chewed the inside of her cheek with a reluctant nod. She knew how much these family dinners meant to Chandra. Relenting, Safira waited until Esmeralda dismissed herself before she began to change back into her regular clothes.

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Dimitri's eyes caught sight of Safira as she exited the gypsy tent. He had been waiting for her, having seen her and the Romani beauty walk inside together. He fixed his hair as he began to walk towards her, clearing his throat to catch her attention. She turned to look towards him and was given a look of surprise.

"Dimitri?"

"Good afternoon, my lady-"

"Just Safira," She insisted, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at him suspiciously, "What can I do for you?"

"I was just strolling through the city and I thought I would stop and say hello."

She questioned his intentions but kept her doubt to herself. Dimitri, however, noticed her subtle discomfort and smiled broadly.

"I was hoping we could stop at the tavern for a drink? My treat."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Her eyes darted towards the cathedral.

"Just one drink," He pressed, flashing his most charismatic smile, "From one soldier to another."

Safira was not the least bit swayed by his attempts to charm her. She refrained from rolling her eyes, pursing her lips in annoyance. She supposed there would be no harm in humoring him.

"Alright, just one drink."

"Excellent!"

They walk to the tavern was awkwardly silent.

When they reached the tavern, Safira seemed to relax almost instantly. The roaring cheer and conversation of men along with the smell of bourbon was an environment Safira felt most comfortable in – besides the cathedral, that is.

As she and Dimitri sat at the bar, the barkeep prepared their drinks without even having to ask. Dimitri waited until Safira held her drink in hand before he began conversation.

"I suppose it was a first for you at the wedding?"

She looked at him confusedly.

"The dress, I mean," He babbled awkwardly.

"First and last," She confirmed.

"Why is that?"

"I don't wear dresses. My brother's wedding was a special occasion," She stirred her drink before taking a swig.

"You looked very beautiful."

Her discomfort returned. She rounded on him, impatience in her tone.

"Why am I here, Dimitri?"

"I thought we could enjoy each others company," He turned on the bar stool to face her.

"I'm not someone whose company you can really enjoy," She spoke dryly, "I'm not a very interesting person."

"Quite the contrary," He grinned widely, "As Captain, I had the utmost respect for you. As a woman, I find you very intriguing. I would like to know you as a friend, maybe?"

She studied his face so intensely that he actually squirmed a bit under her gaze. He had been subjected to that exact look during training and even without her scarf hiding her face, it was still oddly shaking. He cleared his throat before he continued.

"I was also thinking you could help me sharpen my sword skills. I'm afraid I've grown a bit rusty."

The change in her was immediate. She raised her eyebrows in surprise before it softened. He had her now.

"I wouldn't mind training you."

After all, it had been everything to her for over half of her life. The thought of having the chance to train someone again brought a rush of excitement to her.

"Excellent," He grinned widely, "What do you say we practice after a couple of drinks?"

Dimitri rejoiced in his victory at the sight of Safira's face broke into a breathtaking smile.

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Dimitri laughed hard as he walked Safira to Chandra's house. She rolled her eyes, unable to hold back the smirk from her face. The sun was beginning to set and dinner would be starting room. She had informed Dimitri she had to leave but he insisted on walking her home safe.

"That was a pathetic training session," She shook her head, unable to hide her amusement.

"Give me a break, I was drinking," His laughter was slowly dying down.

"So was I," She pointed out, "What did I always tell you back in Russia?"

"No excuses," He sighed with mock disappointment, "I suppose that's why I was discharged."

"You suppose?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You wound me, Captain," He brought a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

She was unable to hold back the chuckle that passed her lips as they stopped in front of Chandra's house. Dimitri stood before the shorter ex-soldier with a lazy grin.

"Well?" Dimitri raised an eyebrow expectantly.

She rolled her eyes, "I didn't have a completely terrible time."

"Was that so hard?" He chuckled deeply.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked away, the buzzing of the few drinks she had creating a sense of relaxation. When she turned to face the soldier, he was already leaning in. Before she could react, she felt his hand grip her chin rather firmly as he pressed his lips to hers in a bold kiss.

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Quasimodo hummed to himself as he carried a bottle of Safira's favorite wine to Chandra's house. He was looking forward to tonight's dinner. He felt a rush of both excitement and nervousness. He had been thinking nonstop since Phoebus and Esmeralda's wedding.

That night when Safira had staring into the water, the moonlight radiating off of her ivory skin, he could feel his body reacting to her beauty. When he draped his cloak over her and she was suddenly staring him the same way she did when she had drunkenly kissed him, the feelings intensified. Lastly, when she uttered his name so softly and quietly, his skin had been covered in gooseflesh. It was then that he realized that he couldn't hide his feelings anymore.

He was head over heels in love with Safira.

The realization that dawned on him had brought a sense of both horror and ecstasy. The person with whom he had first known to be a man, who had become his closest friend and confidant was now the woman he had fallen deeply for. He only wondered why it hadn't hit him sooner. The thought of them together may seem mind-boggling for other people. She the polar opposite of him; he balanced her darkness with his light and she helped him grow when he stubbornly remained naïve. They did more for each other than they could possibly know.

Quasimodo didn't want to wait another moment before he talked to Safira about what he was feeling. He had been unable to sleep after the wedding. He contemplated the pros and cons of telling her and came to two conclusions. One, his feelings would not be mutual and their friendship may suffer a terrible awkwardness. The second – and most unrealistic to Quasimodo – was that she could reciprocate his feelings and they could begin something more than a friendship.

For hours he had wallowed in fear and depressed himself in his thoughts of her rejection. It wasn't until he began to think of the good times they shared, the chemistry between them and how they made each other laugh that he began to build a bit more confidence. That and the unforgettable night when she had gifted him with his first – and very passionate – kiss.

Quasimodo knew he wasn't much to look at but he knew in his heart he could offer Safira more than any other man could; he would love her for everything that she was – a cross-dressing ex-soldier with a feisty spirit and short temper.

As he walked towards Chandra's house - mentally preparing his amorous confession - he stopped in his tracks at the view of Safira standing in front of the house with the soldier she had been speaking to last night. Quasimodo gripped the wine bottle tightly, a deep frown developing on his face as he felt a surge of jealousy rush through his veins. Nonetheless, he took a few more steps towards them with the intention of interrupting whatever conversation they were having.

Until they began to kiss.

Quasimodo had been unable to take another step. In fact, he took a step backwards as he looked at them in disbelief. His hands began to shake as he looked upon them. Like a cruel slash to his heart, he felt a crippling pain in his chest. When Safira didn't immediately pull away from him, Quasimodo was unable to look any longer.

Clumsily turning back, he ran towards the cathedral as his breath began to quicken. Wine bottle in hand, he continued to run back until he reached the church, barging in loudly. He managed to make it halfway up the steps before he tripped in his despair and fell face down onto the stairs, breaking the wine bottle.

He lay against the stairs in defeat. His heart ached dreadfully. He clenched his hands into fists, his vision blurring as tears stung his turquoise eyes. He closed his eyes, his quiet sobs echoing hauntingly in the cathedral.

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	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy."

 _Proverbs 12:22_

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When Quasimodo didn't arrive for dinner, Safira had been ready to head for the bell tower to make sure he was alright. Chandra, however, insisted Safira stay and allow Quasimodo time to rest.

"After all, he's been sick," Chandra turned to Esmeralda, "Isn't that right, dear?"

"He has," Esmeralda nodded but her eyes remained pensive.

"It's not like him to not show up," Safira spoke with genuine concern.

"He's fine, love," Chandra insisted kindly, "You can pay him a visit tomorrow morning after mass."

Safira had relented despite her instincts and waited until the morning to visit Quasimodo.

Her mind was rattled enough as it was with both Dimitri and Quasimodo on her mind. After the prior evening's incident, Safira had been fuming at the soldier. She had initially been too shocked to react but when his kiss had deepened, she felt her fury arrive at full force. When her fist connected to his jaw, she had sent him flying to the ground. She stormed inside immediately after, missing the look of complete surprise on his face as he sat up from the ground, rubbing his cheek.

Were he not a friend of Phoebus', she would have done more than just attempt to dislocate his jaw. She opted for sending a loud and clear message to stay away from her. This was the second person – the first being Esmeralda – who had thrown themselves at her with such a bold kiss. Of the two experiences, Esmeralda's had been the least unpleasant which said quite a lot for Dimitri.

She hoped she wouldn't run into him and certainly hoped he wouldn't come looking for her as she darted towards the cathedral. She was anxious to see the auburn-haired man; it seemed as if only a night without seeing him was enough to make her miss him.

When she finally ascended to the bell tower, she was startled at the sight.

It looked as if a hurricane had hit the bell tower. The tables and chairs were knocked over, the drapes that hung above the wooden beams to shield the sunlight had been ripped apart. She stepped in further, her eyes scanning the area; Quasimodo's crafts had been thrown on the floor, some of the glass décor shattered.

"Quasimodo?" She called out for him apprehensively, fearing the worst.

When she received no response, she immediately rushed to his bedroom, opening the door swiftly. She felt a rush of relief when she spotted him lying in his bed, his back to her. She walked towards him, getting down on knee by his bedside. She placed a hand on his arm and shook him gently.

"Quasimodo, wake up."

"I am awake," His voice came in a low but clear mutter.

She kept her hand on his arm, a concerned frown on her face.

"Are you alright? What happened out there?" She demanded to know, "Did someone try to hurt you?"

"No, they didn't try," He sat up, shrugging off her hand rather harshly, "They did."

"What did they do?" She stood up now, anger creeping in her voice and face, "Tell me who hurt you."

He sat on his bed, his legs sliding to hang off the edge. He looked down at the floor as he gripped the edges. He hung his head, keeping his eyes cast down to the floor. His auburn hair fell over his face, shielding Safira from the sorrow held within his eyes.

"I think it's best if you just go."

Safira blinked in surprise. His tone was so uncharacteristically empty, almost cold. She moved to stand in front of him, refusing to leave.

"Tell me what happened," She lowered her voice in an attempt to remain calm, "Whoever they are, whatever they did, you needn't be afraid-"

"I'm not afraid," He interrupted her now with impatience, finally looking up at her and almost startling her with the dark shade his usually bright eyes had, "Please go."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was tempted to stay and demand that he tell her what happened but the look on his face prevented her from doing so. Swallowing her spit, she nodded curtly.

"Fine," She bit out tightly before turning to head towards the door.

Quasimodo watched her head towards the door. She stopped at the doorway to look back at him. She was alarmed by the desolation in his eyes. He looked positively tired and drained, both physically and spiritually.

"Come to me whenever you're ready," She said simply, leaving Quasimodo to wallow in his heartbreak.

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 _Several Weeks Later_

Safira readied herself for her assignment. If Judge Leopold's contacts were accurate, the man who called himself Sarousch would be arriving to Paris in his traveling circus. Safira had spent the last remaining weeks preparing herself in every way. She and Phoebus trained vigorously to keep her sword fighting skills sharp. Esmeralda prepared her for the mental and emotional portion of the mission, reviewing with her the person she was supposed to be. She had trained herself to answer to the name that had been bestowed upon her:

John de Grammont.

Former pirate. Master of thievery. He had been a member of a relatively unknown pirate crew until his captain's ship had been invaded by another band of pirates. When his captain refused to surrender, they had been mercilessly defeated. John, who had surrendered immediately, had been taken prisoner and was forced to work for the new crew. When they reached land to pillage and plunder the town for food and other means of survival, John made his escape and was now living in hiding to avoid recapture. It had been a decent enough story; a bit dramatic but believable enough. She was prepared to execute the story if need be.

When the circus finally arrived, Safira had been lurking through the shadows of the city to avoid being seen by anyone. As hard as Esmeralda had worked on her disguise, she still feared being recognized by the townsfolk and couldn't afford to draw attention to herself.

As the traveling circus paraded loudly through the city, drawing attention with its performers, exotic animals and music, Safira eyed the moving carriages carefully.

"Safira?"

She gasped loudly, jumping at the sound of Dimitri's voice who had been curiously snooping behind her.

"Damn you, Dimitri!" She cursed him lowly, drawing her sword to point at him, "What do you want?!"

"I saw you sneaking off," He held his hands up as he looked at her sword, "What's with the getup? I thought you were out of town on business."

She sheathed her sword with a roll of her eyes. This disguise was a complete and utter failure; if someone as moronic as Dimitri had recognized her, there's no doubt anyone else wouldn't.

"That's none of your concern now leave!" She snapped irately before turning to look back at the circus.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for what happened that night."

"Apology accepted now go."

She kept her eyes on Sarousch who made a dramatic appearance, receiving a round of applause from the excited crowd.

Dimitri followed her stare to the gypsy man, frowning at her disregard towards him.

"Safira-"

"Dimitri, just leave!" She finally turned towards him, clearly irate, "I'm in the middle of a very important mission and I can't afford any distractions!"

"Alright," He surrendered, walking backwards very slowly, "I'll leave for now but you can't run away from me forever!"

"What the hell are you going on about?!" She stared at him in bewilderment.

"I love you, Safira de Chataupers!" He professed loudly, "I won't rest until I have you as my wife!"

"Get the hell out of here!" She took a step threateningly towards him.

Dimitri clumsily ran the opposite direction, nearly tripping. She watched him run off before shaking her head in disgust. If she weren't so angry, she would have almost laughed at the ludicrousness of Dimitri's words.

Her anger was only ignited when she turned back to see the circus had left the square.

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Night came upon Paris, giving the circus people the chance to set up their tents and performance stands for the following day. Safira had waited until the town slept before she approached the circus warily. Despite Dimitri having recognized her earlier today, she decided to stick with the plan she had worked weeks on rather than start from scratch.

She spotted the tent that was unmistakably the circus ringer's as it was the largest and most elaborate. Outside of the tent were two large and tall men garbed in circus wear, masquerade masks keeping their faces shielded; oddly enough, despite the ridiculous costumes, they were still intimidating. Safira held her chin up high as she approached the guards.

When she stood before them, they stared at her. They said nothing nor did they express any emotion. Her face unwavering as she began to speak to them in the husky, low tone she had perfected in her past life as Sacha.

"I'm looking for Sarousch."

She received no response. She stood for a moment, dumbfounded. She cleared her throat and raised her voice in an attempt to grab Sarousch's attention from within the tent.

"I want to join the circus."

Again, they said nothing.

"I can make it worth his while," She brought out a pouch from within her sleeve and bounced it up and down on her hand, the sound of jewels and coins clashing loudly.

After a moment of silence, she could hear a voice from within the tent.

"Let the boy in."

She smirked smugly at the guards as they took a step away from the entrance. Safira took in a low breath before parting the tent and walking inside. She was met with the sight of the gypsy man sitting in a chair, his back to her. She could see his face through the many mirrors that sat around him. He was looking upon at himself vainly. He was nowhere near as old-looking as Leopold was and for a moment wondered if she was in the presence of the wrong man. One could say he was even handsome with copper-brown skin, shoulder-length ebony hair and exotic sapphire eyes that tilted upwards at the outer corners.

When he finally decided to acknowledge her presence, he merely looked at her through the reflection of the mirrors.

"So you want a job, do you?"

"That's what I said," She responded dryly.

"And why should I employ you?" He continued to look at her, his gaze sharp like a vulture circling its prey.

Safira didn't answer. Instead, she tossed the pouch she was carrying at his table, spilling the jewels and gold coins. Sarousch brought his azure gaze towards the goods before turning in his chair to finally face her questionably.

"A thief recognizes another," She clarified, bringing a look of amusement to Sarousch's face.

"Oh?" Sarousch chuckled darkly.

Safira nodded towards the pouch she had thrown at him, "That was only one day's worth of work. In a week, I can quadruple that amount."

Sarousch was interested in what the other was saying but kept his face neutral for the time being. He sat back, his hands clasped on his lap as he stared at Safira.

"And what would be in it for you?" Sarousch challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Safety," She stated simply.

"From what?" He questioned her.

"Let's just say I have built quite a number of enemies," She spoke cryptically, not wishing to go into detail unless he asked, "I can't stay in Paris for long. If you allow me to travel with you, I will make you richer than the King himself."

Sarousch continued to study Safira as if he were looking for any sign of deception. His piercing blue eyes grazed her form before running back up to meet her equally cold-blue stare.

"You're a bit young to have so many enemies already."

"Trouble has been following me since I was a lad."

"I can see why," Sarousch looked towards the bag of riches then back at Safira, "What are you running from exactly, Monsieur…?"

"John," Safira offered, "And does it really matter?"

"I suppose not," Sarousch shrugged, "Just curiosity on my part."

"Then what do you say?" She pushed the subject.

Sarousch thought deeply for a moment as he looked at the bag that had been tossed at him. His greed clouded his judgement. He knew there was something off about this baby-faced stranger but the riches he was presented with pushed his suspicions aside. He stood up now and grabbed the pouch, turning to Safira with a smile that lacked warmth.

"If you can live up to your word, I will allow you to travel with us. We leave in a week."

Safira could have jumped for joy in that moment. The man pretty much admitted he was a thief to her but in order for an arrest to be made, she had to catch him red-handed. If she could connect any foul play to the circus, she could easily have Phoebus warrant an arrest. It seemed almost too simple.

"Now get out," Sarousch stated dismissively, turning his back to Safira.

The disguised woman didn't have to be told twice.

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Safira felt her heart racing as she exited the circus area, silently thanking God for what she had accomplished. She was closer to her goal than she thought she would be. She didn't consider this a victory, per say. She was still on his watch list which meant her focus for the next couple of days would be to earn his trust. When he would trust her, he would share his next move with her and that's when they could attack.

As Safira slid through the dark alleyways of Paris, she was unable to take the risk of going directly home in fear she was being watched by Sarousch's men. Walking past the homeless people of Paris, her attention was grabbed by the panicked voice of a maiden. She glanced towards the sound of the voice and halted, narrowing her eyes at the sight of a short-haired woman seemingly being harassed by a man much larger than she.

Safira began to walk slowly towards them until their voices could be heard clearly.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any money," She spoke frighteningly.

"Excuse me," Safira stepped in at this point, addressing the large man firmly, "Is there a problem?"

"This doesn't concern you, kid!" He growled defensively.

Safira immediately withdrew her sword, alarming them both. She grabbed the collar of the man who had tried to brush her off, bringing her sword to his neck. As he looked down into her icy blue eyes, he immediately knew who he was dealing with. The widening of his eyes revealed to Safira that he had recognized her.

"O-Oh, S-Sa-"

"Shut up!" Safira shouted, bringing a startled jump from the woman who had her hands clasped to her mouth in alarm.

Safira leaned in to whisper lowly in the man's ear, so low that the woman couldn't possibly hear.

"Tell anyone about this and I'll have your head mounted on my wall."

She released him, her cold eyes observing him as he immediately began to run through the alleys. That had been too close. She wondered for a moment if she should be concerned that he recognized her but found no use in worrying about it; if he knew what was good for him, he would keep his mouth shut.

"T-Thank you," The voice of the timid woman brought her eyes back to her.

Safira frowned at her, sheathing her sword. The woman was short; shorter than Safira. She was very small and frail-looking. Her large blue-green eyes were doll-like in their sparkling innocence and right now they looked at Safira warily.

"You shouldn't be out here, blondie," She informed her, "It's dangerous."

"R-Right," The woman tucked a strand of her short hair behind her head, casting her eyes downward, "It was stupid of me."

"Yes, it was," Safira agreed coldly, "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"Oh no, you don't have to-"

"No but for the sake of my conscious, I'll escort you home."

The woman bit her lower lip, nodding in silent agreement. She began to walk out of the alleyway, Safira following behind her. They walked in silence until they left the darkness out of the alleyway.

"Where do you live?" Safira began to walk with her side-by-side.

"I'm with the circus."

Safira gave her a sideways glance, her face remaining neutral. She felt a very slight tugging of her lips but composed herself. This was almost too perfect.

"Is that so?" Safira's tone was considerably softer, "What's your name?"

"Madellaine," She peered up at the taller girl.

"Lovely," Safira complimented the name genuinely.

She didn't miss the slight flushing of the girl's cheeks. Safira nearly rolled her eyes.

 _Here we go again,_ She thought back to when Esmeralda had been briefly infatuated with her.

"What's your name?" Madellaine finally smiled very lightly.

"John."

"Well, John, thank you for coming to my rescue."

"It seems that's what I do best."

"What? Save defenseless people like me?"

"I was going to say save pretty girls," Safira smirked down at her captivatingly.

Madellaine brought a hand to her cheek, her lyrical laughter ringing softly through her rosy lips. Safira found it oddly endearing. The poor girl practically burst with insecurity and self-consciousness. She was feeble in mind and emotions as she was physically. She was a perfect target for anyone looking to take advantage of her.

"What do you do in the circus, Madellaine?" Safira questioned with false interest; any information she got would be worth knowing.

"I'm just supposed to stand up there and look pretty," Madellaine shrugged with a smile.

"Oh, come now," Safira scoffed, "I'm sure you contribute more to the circus than just your looks."

Madellaine shrugged again, running a hand through her cornflower hair.

"I don't really have a talent," She spoke shyly, "But I'm working on something."

"Oh?" Safira egged her on, "What is it?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that," She rubbed her arm with a small laugh.

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked," Safira raised an eyebrow down at her.

Madellaine bit her lower lip as she smiled, as if she were about to reveal a huge secret.

"Well…" Madellaine began slowly, "I would really like to walk the tie rope."

Madellaine didn't know what possessed her to admit that out loud. She felt foolish and expected the charming man to laugh at her any minute now. But he didn't.

"So why don't you?" Safira questioned as the sight of the circus was coming into view.

"I'm not very good at it," She laughed softly.

"It just takes practice," She peered down at the girl, her blue eyes soft, "I'm sure you can do it. In fact, I know you can."

Madellaine said nothing but her smile spoke for itself. Safira could sense that the girl was quickly growing relaxed around her. She wondered if there was anything she could find out about Sarousch from the girl…

"Is this your first time in Paris?" Safira questioned further.

"It's been a while since I've been here," The blonde admitted.

"Perhaps I could show you around sometime," Safira offered with a grin, "When you're off the tie rope, that is."

"Really?" Madellaine looked up at Safira with wide eyes as they stopped at the entrance of the circus grounds.

"Sure," Safira shrugged casually.

Madellaine looked unsure and it was beginning to panic Safira. She wondered if she came on too strong for the timid girl. Safira's eyes studied her carefully and eventually, she received a warm smile and a nod.

"Alright," She agreed, "I'll see you tomorrow after the show?"

"I'll see you tomorrow," Safira nodded courteously, "Good night, _mademoiselle_."

Safira watched Madellaine walk towards the circus, only leaving when she saw for herself that she had made it to her tent safely. When Safira turned back towards the city, she was unable to hide the triumphantly joyous grin off her face. She had thought simply meeting with Sarousch was great progress but now? Now she could have eyes inside the circus if she could manage to befriend the girl.

As she walked home carefully, she ignored the nagging voice in her head that scolded her for the advantage she was taking of the bashful circus girl.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

" _Walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harms."_

Proverbs 13:20

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Madellaine was readying herself for Sarousch's performance when said man barged into her tent unannounced. She turned towards him wide-eyed, adjusting her cherry-red dress that he insisted she wear when assisting in his performance. An impish smile was already plastered on his face.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

"Yes," She sighed, her tone unenthusiastic.

"We're not going to have yesterday's mishap occur again, are we, my little trinket?"

Sarousch referred to how she had embarrassed him at the square when she hadn't appeared during his opening act.

He had counted on the introductory act to lure the people of Paris to his circus. When he tapped the wooden case with his "magic wand", Madellaine was supposed to appear but to his dismay, she hadn't. This wasn't the first time she disappeared on him either.

"No," She assured him softly then looked up at him with hopeful eyes, "I was thinking-"

"Thinking?" A bark of cruel laughter escaped the vain man as he was studying himself in the mirror, "Not one of your strong suits, is it, my dear?"

Madellaine bit her tongue and continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.

"I was thinking that maybe I could contribute more to the circus."

"That you shall, my sweet éclair," He assured her, taking her hand and bringing her to the entrance of her tent, "I have the perfect job for someone like you."

She stood beside him and followed his gaze as it rested greedily on the cathedral.

"There are stories of a bell up in the cathedral of extraordinary value," He began to clarify, "Your job is to go up there and found out which bell it is."

Madellaine exhaled lowly. Though she didn't need to ask why, she found the words escaping her mouth anyway.

"Why?"

"I mean to have it for myself, of course!" He exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing.

Madellaine had been afraid of that. It seemed from the moment she joined the circus, Sarousch's focus was on this thievery rather than the circus itself. She found herself deeply exasperated, more so when she had to become involved directly in the thefts.

"Why must we always steal?" She blurted out without thinking.

Sarousch smirked as he looked upon the defeated girl.

"Why don't we leave the thinking to me, my dear?" He took her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to his, "Besides, where would you be without me?"

She grit her teeth before answering, "On the streets."

"Precisely," He spoke lowly, "It's a cold world out there for a girl like you."

Memories of last night flashed in Madellaine's head. Were it not for her rescuer, she wouldn't have stood a chance, confirming what Sarousch had always told her. Anytime she showed any sign of resistance against his plans, he would always bring up how he had first found her.

A poor orphan on the streets, she had resorted to stealing and had made the mistake of attempting to steal from Sarousch. Rather than turn her into the authorities, he had taken her under his wing. He used and abused her weakness and manipulated her with the constant reminder of how he could have turned her in – or killed her – but hadn't.

She grit her teeth, speaking dejectedly.

"What do I have to do?"

With a satisfied grin, he released her face to look at the cathedral once more.

"There's a bell ringer who apparently lives in the tower," He informed her, "Smile at him. Charm him. And he will tell you everything I need to know."

He turned towards her with a smirk, "You can manage to do that, right?"

Madellaine nodded curtly.

"Lovely," He chuckled darkly before exiting her tent.

Madellaine looked up at the bell tower with saddened eyes. If Sarousch wanted her to meet the bell ringer and apparently beguile him into telling her what he wanted, it meant she would have to cancel any plans with Safira. The disappointed girl sighed as she continued to half-hardheartedly ready herself for her performance.

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A hard knock on Safira's door startled the girl out of her sleep. She groaned, bringing her hands to her eyes as Phoebus' voice called out to her through the door.

"Safira? Can I come in?"

"You might as well," She called out sleepily.

She continued to lay back, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as Phoebus walked in. She sat up slowly, stretching as he sat down in the nearest chair.

"Good morning, sunshine," He smirked, eyeing her tousled hair.

"Morning," She offered lazily, sighing as she brought her legs to the edge of her bed, "What do I owe the pleasure of receiving such an early visit?"

"I wanted to know what you have on Sarousch."

That was enough to fully wake her. She looked at him with disapproving eyes. She had been given strict instruction by the minister to not discuss anything with anyone other than him. Phoebus was to know the minimum; apparently the judge feared the passionate Captain would take matters into his own hands using the information Safira provided him with.

"Phoebus, you know that's classified-"

"Spare me the lecture!" He cut her off impatiently, "They've been here one night and there's already been reports of robberies. If you're not close to a break, I'm going to be forced to begin my own investigation."

"Please don't interfere," She implored him, "I'm close to having him."

"How close?" He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Very," She assured him, "I've managed to take my first step into his circle. Just give me a little more time. Remember the plan?"

Phoebus sighed impatiently before reciting the plan, "You figure out his next move and I'll be there to catch him when he does it."

"Exactly. Stick to it," She warned him, "We can't afford to mess this one up."

"Fine," He snapped before looking at her suddenly, "By the way, I couldn't help but notice your visits to the cathedral have been infrequent."

Phoebus didn't notice the change in Safira's body language. She stiffed her back as she stood up, looking away from him as she busied herself with making her bed.

"I've been busy," She spoke nonchalantly, "I need to focus on this assignment and I can't afford any distractions."

"Well, Quasi has been a wreck," Phoebus frowned lightly, "Maybe it wouldn't kill you to pay him a visit. You know, see how he's doing?"

"If Quasimodo needs me, he can come to me," She insisted quietly.

"Look, Safira," Phoebus stood up now, "I'm not exactly sure what's going on but you two have been acting very strange-"

"Phoebus," She turned to face him now, her face stern, "We're fine."

"He's definitely not fine," He shook his head disapprovingly, "Just… try to see him, alright?"

"Alright," She nodded impatiently, "I'll go see him. Now will you go so I can get dressed?"

He nodded curtly but didn't move just yet.

"Are you coming to the circus with us? Quasi will be there."

"Oh, I'll be there," She assured him as she grabbed a pair of trousers, "But you won't see me."

Phoebus frowned lightly but exited the room when Safira waved him away. She shook her head as her thoughts began to drift to a certain hunchback. She had forgotten for a moment that they were currently not on speaking terms, having been so focused on the task given to her. She almost wished Phoebus hadn't brought him up as an overwhelming sense of longing washed over her.

She missed him terribly but her pride was strong. When he had demanded that she leave his presence, she had done as told. She wondered if maybe she should have just tried to approach him again when he had cooled off from whatever he was angry at her about. Come to think of it, she didn't even know why he was refusing to speak to her.

She made a mental note to herself to pay him a visit after she was done with Madellaine.

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When Sarousch had requested she meet with the bell ringer, he had neglected to inform her of his horrific deformity. Madellaine had entered the cathedral and darted towards the bell tower but it wasn't long before she was running back out in horror. She wondered how she was going to break it to Sarousch that she refused to go back.

Having been so shaken from her visit with the bell ringer, she had almost forgotten her plans to meet up with Safira later. She waited patiently in her tent, unaware that said person was within the circus.

Safira had paid Sarousch another visit, bringing an even bigger pouch of valuables to him which the other accepted with greedy joy. They spoke for a bit but Safira received no further information other than Sarousch's confirmation that she would be allowed to join their circus and leave with them by the end of the week. She had only five days left to catch him in the act. Not his henchman. Him. By order of the judge, of course.

When she exited his tent, she immediately walked towards Madellaine's.

Madellaine had been practicing her tie rope when Safira had entered her tent. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the clumsy girl attempting to walk the mini tie rope, her back facing Safira. She walked over to her just in the nick of time as Madellaine's arms began to wave in an attempt to keep her balance.

"Whoa!" Safira leapt forward, catching the lighter girl in her arms with a chuckle, "Careful there."

"John?" She looked up at him, her cheeks began to turn a light shade of pink in embarrassment, "What are you doing here?"

Safira set her down gently, raising an eyebrow. Madellaine felt her heart skip a beat at the intensity of the others skeptical stare.

"I thought you wanted to see Paris tonight."

"Oh, right!" Madellaine slapped her hand on her forehead, "I did! I mean, I do. I mean-"

"Let's go then," Safira nodded her over.

Madellaine followed the other outside of the tent quietly. Safira couldn't help but notice how Madellaine fidgeted with her hair and hands nervously.

"What's the matter?" She asked immediately, "You seem a bit shaky."

"I'm fine," Madellaine forced a small laugh, "I just had a hectic morning."

"You were great, by the way," Safira found that she meant what she said about Madellaine's circus performance.

"It was nothing," The blonde shrugged, once again brushing off a compliment as she seemed to always do.

"You ought to give yourself more credit, you know," Saira spoke gruffly, "So what's going on?"

"Nothing," Madellaine shrugged, "It's just… John, have you ever been in the bell tower of the cathedral?"

"Been there?" She scoffed without thinking, "I lived there for months."

Safira instantly regretted giving that piece of information out when Madellaine looked at her with surprise. As Madellaine began to question her, her mind quickly began to weave an explanation that coincided with her false background.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Safira began slowly, mixing truth with fiction, "This may, or may not, come as a surprise but I was once a wanted man. My past isn't exactly the cleanest and I ended up in a very dark place. The cathedral was my only escape and I was granted sanctuary by the archdeacon."

"So… you know the bell ringer?"

Safira glanced at her curiously, "Yes."

"He's, um…" Madellaine cleared her throat, attempting to word this in the nicest way possible, "… an usual-looking man, isn't he?"

Safira felt a fierce rush of protectiveness overwhelm her. She grit her teeth, keeping her temper in check. Surely, Madellaine meant no harm in her statement. After all, she spoke the truth; Quasimodo was unusual-looking.

"He is," She admitted, "But were it not for him, I wouldn't be here today; he saved my life."

Madellaine squinted at him, disbelief written in her blue-green orbs.

"What, you don't believe me?" Safira smirked down at her.

"It's just he looks so-"

"Frightening? I know," She gave her that, "I had to admit when I first saw him, I was on the defensive. I, too, mistakenly assumed he would hurt me. But once you get to know him, you'd be surprised what a kind soul he has."

Madellaine couldn't help but notice how John's eyes and voice softened at the mention of the hunchback. She felt herself smiling, finding his affection for the man endearing.

"Sometimes…" Safira spoke carefully, "People aren't always what they seem to be. I learned that the hard way and someday you will too."

If Safira had wanted Madellaine to feel ashamed for her reaction to Quasimodo, it worked. Madellaine bit her lower lip, her brow furrowing pensively.

"You're right," She breathed out regrettably, "I reacted so rudely to him when I went to the bell tower."

Safira felt a rush of cold wash over her. She had assumed Madellaine had seen him at the circus. She kept her face neutral as she began to question her in the most casual tone she could muster.

"What were you doing in the bell tower?"

"I, uh…" Madellaine began to stammer, rising suspicion out of Safira, "I-I just… love the bells. I wanted to see them up close."

 _She's lying._

"Did he speak to you?" Safira pressed further.

"He was actually hiding from me when I first walked in," Madellaine recalled as it began to slowly dawn on her.

"He was probably more afraid of you than you were of him," Safira confirmed what Madellaine was thinking.

"I feel terrible," Madellaine sighed, placing a hand over her chest, "I should… apologize to him."

"I'm sure he would appreciate that," She glanced towards the cathedral almost coldly.

Safira forced her suspicions aside, attempting to focus on spending as much time with Madellaine as possible. But even as they walked through the night and enjoyed the quiet evening, Safira was unable to think of anything else except for two things.

One: What was Madellaine really doing in the bell tower?

Two: Was Quasimodo okay?

They ended up near the very bridge Quasimodo had brought Safira to on the night of Phoebus and Esmeralda's wedding. It was a perfect spot for lover's as the moon glowed romantically against the water, the sight of the cathedral perfectly angled.

"So, you're joining the circus?" Madellaine asked hopefully.

"I am," She had been unable to look at her when she answered, finding it difficult to lie to her.

"What talents do you have?"

Safira leaned back against the bridge, her arms laid out on either side of it.

"My talent is more… backstage."

Madellaine knew what she meant by that. A look of disappointment seemed to wave over her face in a brief flash.

"What made you join the circus?" Safira changed the subject back to Madellaine.

She could tell the other was hesitant to answer. She looked almost embarrassed. Safira took a wild guess.

"You didn't join out of your own free will, did you?"

Madellaine shook her head as she leaned against the bridge, staring down into the water. Safira examined her lovely face for a moment.

"What happened?" She asked.

"Let's just say I was in a bad situation and found by the wrong person."

"Ah… That person being Sarousch, I assume?"

"I was young," Madellaine suddenly blurted to Safira who was listening intently, "I was hungry and homeless. I had no choice but to steal but the person I stole it too just so happened to be Sarousch. He gave me a choice; either join the circus with him or he would turn me to the authorities. As a child, you can see why I chose to go with him instead."

"Of course," Safira agreed with a nod, "He gave you a home."

"Yeah," Madellaine spoke quietly.

"You don't sound too pleased about it," She pointed out curiously.

"I just… wish we didn't have to steal," The other admitted quietly, "I wish we could focus on bettering the circus, making it bigger and greater and making money honorably."

As Madellaine spoke, it dawned on Safira that the girl was no more than a mere pawn to Sarousch. One that was probably treated poorly judging by the miserable look on her face. She found herself pitying her and the guilt of deceiving her only grew. Safira clenched her teeth frustratingly.

She missed the days when she could do and say the things she did for personal gain and not feel a damn thing. Now, she couldn't even look at Madellaine's saddened face without feeling as if a knife was being thrust into her stomach and twisted.

"It's… getting late," Safira cleared her throat.

"R-Right," Madellaine nodded.

As Safira walked Madellaine home, her heart and mind battled fiercely between what she needed to do and what she wanted to do.

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 **Author's Note:**

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

And to answer a few people's questions: no, this is not turning into a fem slash; sorry to disappoint.

But hey, I could make a fem slash HBND story if you all give me some suggestions on what you would like to see?

Review and let me know!

~ Laruto


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

" _The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery."_

 _Galatians 5:19_

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Safira had been unable to bring herself to go see Madellaine the following day. She was beginning to feel worse and worse about what she was doing and losing sense of what was right and wrong. Despite her instincts, she decided that paying Judge Leopold a visit was needed. She walked to the Palace of Justice as soon as she woke up and had demanded to speak to him.

She waited only a few minutes before she was being walked to his office by a soldier. When she entered his office, he had been standing by the window, peering out of it as if looking for someone. Leopold waited until the soldier who escorted Safira up had walked out of the room before he spoke.

"Lady Safira," He turned to face her, his face stern, "I assume you wouldn't jeopardize our mission by openly coming here were it not of utmost importance?"

Safira suddenly felt foolish. What had brought her here in the first place? The risk of breaking a circus girl's heart? When it came to catching a murderer and thief, were the emotions of a young girl as important?

"Your honor, I am feeling quite conflicted about what you have entrusted me to do," She admitted boldly.

Leopold seemed genuinely surprised, obviously not having expected that.

"Oh? What is it that is causing you discomfort, my lady?"

His voice was kind and passive. It gave her the courage she needed to speak upfront.

"I am slowly getting the information I need," She admitted, "But I feel that I am putting others in jeopardy through my… tactics."

"Ah," Leopold suddenly smiled, wrinkling his face, "You're speaking of the circus girl."

Safira frowned confusedly. How had he known about Madellaine? He answered her unspoken question immediately.

"I've had an eye kept on you during your missions, my dear. For your own safety, of course. You didn't think I would put you in such a dangerous situation without having your back guarded, did you?"

She did, quite frankly. Her silence told him so. Leopold approached her, placing a sympathetic hand to her shoulder.

"I know it's difficult. The girl seems like a perfectly nice young woman… but then again, looks can be deceiving."

"Madellaine's not like that," She informed him firmly, "She's different."

"That may be," He relented, "But then again, we can't afford to let our emotions get the best of us during such a critical time of our investigation. If you are as close as you say you are to putting that madman behind bars, we have to think with our minds rather than our hearts."

She lowered her gaze disappointingly. She hated to admit it but he was right. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. If catching Sarousch and preventing him from hurting others meant hurting Madellaine, it was for the best.

Leopold could see that Safira was growing attached to the girl and it worried him greatly. He had specifically chosen Safira for this mission based on her background. She was reputed as a calculating and cold hearted soldier who seemed to be void of any emotions.

"You have done this a million times before," He pointed out curiously, "Why is it so difficult now?"

Safira took a moment to think about it. She had been asking herself the same question over and over and it always led back to Quasimodo. That damned hunchback with his kind eyes and gentle soul; he had lit up whatever darkness Safira had in her heart. He started the dim light and it only blazed with the love of her mother, Esmeralda and Phoebus. The very thing that had brought her back to being human was what was holding her back now.

"Forgive me, sir," She looked up at him with determination in her eyes, "I've lost sight of what's important. I will take what you have told me into mind. I won't fail you."

"That's my girl," He spoke fondly, offering a gentle smile, "I knew I could count on you."

She forced a light smile before she dismissed herself politely from his presence.

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Phoebus trotted through the city in search of Madellaine. It was unknown to Safira but Leopold had entrusted Phoebus with the task of keeping tabs on his sister's movements and contact with the enemy. Leopold had made it clear that it was not Safira he didn't trust but the people she was surrounding herself with. Phoebus had agreed to do so only for the sake of being able to assure Safira's safety. As Phoebus continued to watch her, he could see why the judge was worried.

The only harmless member of the circus seemed to be the blonde-haired girl Safira was spending a large amount of time with. It seemed that every time he looked at Safira, Madellaine was at her side, pinning for her like a lovesick schoolgirl. Initially Phoebus hadn't been worried about the girl but his soldier instincts kept his mind open. Despite the fact that Madellaine seemed guiltless enough, he couldn't label her as innocent just yet. Especially when he remembered that she was still a member of the circus.

When Leopold had summoned Phoebus to his office that afternoon, the soldier had been thrown off when the judge request that he turn his surveillance towards Madellaine. Phoebus didn't dare question the judge nor did he share how he felt spying on Madellaine would be a waste of time. He did was he told and spent the remainder of the day looking for the suddenly lost maiden.

Night swiftly approached hand-in-hand with a pouring rain. He had been ready to call it quits until he finally caught sight of the blonde-haired circus girl.

He was caught off guard to see her running through the rain with Quasimodo. He narrowed his eyes as he watched them run into the cathedral together, swiftly ushering his horse in a desperate attempt to find Safira. Part of him felt that what was going on between Quasimodo and Madellaine was meaningless. Yet, the other part – and stronger part – of him felt that she was up to something. He had thought Leopold crazy for suspecting anything from Madellaine but he was taking no chances.

He rode rapidly to his mother's house. It was the only place he could think Safira would be at the moment after having made herself scarce all day. He hopped off of Achilles and opened the door to Chandra's house, spotting Safira in the living area instantly.

She was curled up in one of the chairs, book in hand. She was still dressed in her "John" apparel, her hair tucked under her hat as usual. His presence brought her eyes up from her book.

"Hey," Phoebus attempted to make his greeting casual as he shut the door behind him.

"Shh," Safira pressed her finger to her lips, "Mother is sleeping."

"Sorry," He shoved his hands into his pockets.

She noted his anxiousness and narrowed her eyes.

"What brings you here so late?"

"I was… just wondering if you ever paid Quasimodo a visit," He eyed her carefully, "Like I told you to?"

She pursed her lips, bringing her eyes back to her book.

"No, I haven't had a chance-"

"You might want to."

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. His cryptic words grabbed her attention.

"And why is that?" She questioned him lowly.

It seemed no matter who she looked at, Safira's deep stare brought a sense of uneasiness to anyone, including Phoebus. At least it did now when he was trying to hint at her to check on Madellaine at the bell tower without giving away that he had been spying on the girl. He opted for a different approach.

"I don't mean now, of course!" He scoffed, "After all, he's with that circus girl."

Safira's stare hardened as Phoebus turned his back to her and headed towards the cupboards in casual search of food. Safira shut her book and slowly slid her legs off of the chair. She was unable to hide the darkness in her voice as she sharply demanded:

"What do you mean he's with the circus girl?"

"Oh, you know," He shrugged as he rummaged through the cabinets now, "Esmeralda was telling me how they've been spending a lot of time together. I was going to go visit him now but I didn't want to interrupt-"

The sound of a door slamming open brought Phoebus's eyes back towards the chair in which Safira had been sitting.

She was gone.

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Safira had hopped onto Achilles' without a second thought and began to trot towards the cathedral fiercely, clutching Achilles' thick mane. Her teeth were grinding so hard she could hear the shrieking of them in her head. She was consumed with a fire-red, blinding rage and couldn't even begin to find the right words for it, having never experienced it. All she knew was that she needed to find Madellaine and if she had to yank her by her hair out of the cathedral, she would.

She stopped Achilles in front of the cathedral, bringing a neigh of alarm out of the horse as his hooves skidded to a sudden stop. She jumped off of him, not even bothering to tie his reigns to a nearby post in her fury. She opened the doors of the cathedral violently, rushing immediately towards the stairs.

Her hands were shaking as she stormed towards the bell tower. Her heart began to race at the image of what was awaiting her. With her wrath hanging on by a thread, she attempted to calm herself as she climbed up the steps to the bell tower by taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth.

By the time she reached the bell tower, her attempts to calm herself would become useless. Her eyes immediately locked onto Quasimodo and Madellaine who were sitting a little too close for Safira's comfort in front of a fire. It took every ounce of Safira's self-control not to run towards Madellaine and snatch her away from the hunchback. She stepped forward, making her presence known to the pair.

Quasimodo's surprise was evident as he looked at Safira. Madellaine stood immediately, her eyes wide.

"J-John, what are you doing here?" Madellaine questioned him timidly.

"John?" Quasimodo frowned at her then back at Safira but her eyes remained rooted to Madellaine.

Madellaine thought she had been afraid when that homeless man attempted to steal from her but found that it had been nothing compared to what she felt under Safira's cold stare. Safira took a few steps towards them, never breaking eye contact with Madellaine who was now trembling under her fierce glare.

"Get the hell out of here," Safira spoke in such a quiet tone, it was more unnerving than if she had yelled.

Madellaine didn't hesitate and began to head towards the bell tower steps, darting past Safira.

"Madellaine, wait!" Quasimodo stood up, attempting to run after her but Safira had no patience left.

She drew her sword, stepping forward aggressively to block Quasimodo's path. Quasimodo stared at Safira's face with wide eyes. He hadn't seen that look on her face since he had known her as Sacha. If Quasimodo hadn't felt so outraged, he would've been intimidated by the other's actions.

"If you go after her, it's your head."

Quasimodo looked at her incredulously before he suspiciously began to eye her pirate-like apparel.

"What's going on, Safira?" He demanded to know.

"That's none of your concern," She hissed, sheathing her sword, "What the hell was she doing in here?"

"Why do you need to know?" He challenged her.

"Because!" She roared viciously, finally startling him, "I'm in the middle of an extremely important investigation and your involvement with Madellaine is detrimental to my case!"

"What investigation?" He looked at her in bewilderment, "What does me spending time with Madellaine have to do with whatever you're looking for? And why does she seem to think you're a man named 'John'?"

"Under order of the judge, I am not at liberty to discuss any details with the likes of you," She spoke so venomously, it brought a shattering chill to Quasimodo's heart, "If I see you with her again, you'll regret it."

She turned her back to him with the intention of heading after Madellaine but his next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"I'm not going to stop seeing her."

His words were like a slap to the face. Whatever reign she had on her temper was now gone. She turned to face him slowly, a bitter laugh involuntarily escaping her lips.

"Why? Because you like her?" She sneered at him, "Do you _really_ think that Madellaine's intentions are pure?"

Quasimodo frowned at her for a moment before he realized what she meant. Though he and Madellaine were nothing more than friends, it appeared Safira thought there was more to their friendship. He could have told her the truth but her cruel words clouded his common sense.

"Why wouldn't they be?" He snapped at her angrily, "Because no one could like me just for me, right?"

"I never said that!" She retorted sharply, "Whatever feelings you may have towards her will end now! You don't belong with her!"

Quasimodo felt his hands roll into trembling fists at her words. He had never been as furious with her as he was now. Her words were hurtful, like poison-tipped darts that were thrown straight at his heart.

"Then tell me, who do I belong with?" He spoke quietly.

Safira grit her teeth. She didn't want to admit to herself that it pained her tremendously that Quasimodo hadn't spoken to her in weeks but was spending his free time with Madellaine. She didn't want to acknowledge that her anger was stemmed from her jealousy of the pretty, feminine blonde.

"I don't have time for these ridiculous questions-"

"You have no right to tell me who I belong with," Quasimodo's voice rose, "When all you do is lie to others and yourself!"

Her eyes widened at his harsh words. She lost it.

With a fierce growl, she tackled him to the ground. Quasimodo had been unprepared and fell on his back as she attacked him. Her fist connected to his face once before she pulled it back in an attempt to punch him a second time but the hunchback was quicker. He gripped her fist in his and began to squeeze harshly. A frustrated growl escaped Safira's lips; she was so consumed with rage and hurt that she hadn't even felt the physical pain he was causing her.

She brought her other fist up but he quickly grabbed her wrist with his other hand. He rolled over, pinning her wrists above her head, kneeling down on one knee in between her legs. Her hat fell off of her head, spilling her long hair onto the floor.

"Let me go and fight me like a man!" She demanded fiercely, her legs kicking fiercely.

"I'm not going to fight you," He tried to speak calmly but Safira wasn't have it.

She slid one leg in between both of his, knocking his bended knee down, forcing him to loosen his grip on her wrists as he fell against her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and flipped them so that he was now the one laying on his back. Despite being caught off guard, he immediately reached for her wrists before she could attack him once more.

"Safira, stop!" He shouted now as he sat up, the woman now sitting on his lap with her legs dangling on either side of his hips.

She continued to struggle against him, wincing as he began to slowly squeeze her arms.

"Stop it," He spoke once more, a bit more calmly.

"You stop it," Her voice was deathly quiet as she pushed against him.

She was unable to swing her leg over to get off of him and began to kick wildly. The action only brought their hips repeatedly against each other. She began to breathe heavily as he pinned her wrists behind her back, forcing her chest against his. Quasimodo stared hard at her face, his own breathing deep from the struggle.

When her eyes met his, something happened that neither of them could explain.

Safira crushed her lips to his fiercely, placing every ounce of emotion she was feeling into a violent kiss. Quasimodo gasped softly but it only parted his lips enough to where her tongue was soon seeking his. He slowly closed his eyes, groaning softly into her mouth as their tongues met. He let her wrists go, bringing them up to her hair to grip her raven locks, meeting her angry kiss with a fierce one of his own.

Safira brought her hands to his tunic, gripping it hard. Her hips began to grind against his and soon they were panting against each other's lips. She began to pull at his tunic, forcing his arms up to fully remove it. She tossed the olive-green article of clothing aside, bringing his attention back to her.

Quasimodo's mind, clouded by his lust for the woman he loved, reached for her blouse and ripped it apart effortlessly, bringing a shudder of desire from Safira who reveled in his strength. His hands then reached for the banding that kept her breasts flat against her chest and removed it equal ease, spilling her large breasts.

She panted as he buried his face against her neck, worshipping it with his lips as his hands ran down to cup her ample bottom. Safira bit her lower lip, her eyes dark with lust as she began to reach for her own trousers, lowering them eagerly. He lay her back onto the floor, his hands dragging the remainder of her trousers down her creamy legs swiftly until she was fully nude before him.

He didn't have time to admire the vision of sensual loveliness before him as she was quickly climbing back onto his hips, reaching for his hosiery as she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her fiercely, his hands resting on her back as her hands slid down into his hosiery and brought out what she was looking for. With eager pants, she positioned herself over him. Safira closed her eyes with a gasp as she eagerly impaled herself onto him.

A soft cry escaped both of their lips as he entered her for the first time. Quasimodo buried his face in her neck, panting against her glistening skin. Safira clung to him, breathing heavily against his hair, wincing in pain as she slowly adjusted herself to his shockingly thick girth. He was trembling as he held her tightly, the feel of a woman was more than he could ever even imagine it would be. Her aching, moistened heat wrapped tightly around his throbbing member. Nothing that felt like this could ever be earthly.

Safira welcomed the pain, grinding her hips fiercely against his. The pain mixed with the pleasure provided a deliciously sensual release of the anger she had felt earlier. She dug her nails onto his back as the momentum picked up. His hands drifted to her buttocks, slamming her hips down onto him violently.

They both clung to each others sweating forms, their pants and groans echoing through the bell tower. Every hour they had spent without each other, every emotion they were both afraid to speak or even acknowledge, every tense moment between them had built up to now.

Quasimodo found himself digging his lips onto her neck as he was reaching the peak of his pleasure. Safira cried out shakily at the feel of his teeth embedding roughly onto her soft skin, her limbs trembling as the pleasure she felt in her core as it built higher and higher. She threw her head back as he held her tightly against him, both releasing shaky screams as they shared their first sexual release together.

The bell tower slowly quieted to that of soft pants as their grip on each other loosened. Quasimodo closed his eyes as he held the raven-haired beauty in his arms. Safira's arms fell off his neck, her hands coming to rest on his arms as her breathing calmed. Her closed eyes opened only slightly when she felt him move.

With his hands coming to rest on her bottom, he kept her in place as he stood up slowly. She shuddered at the feeling of their most private areas still connected as he began to walk with her in his arms. She closed her eyes once more when he entered his bedroom. Never once breaking his hold on her, he sat down on the edge of his bed and very carefully laid on his back.

Safira sighed contently as she lay against his chest, her eyes closing. The last thing she felt was the strong grip of his arms around her and the feel of his slow breathing against her skin before she drifted to sleep.

Her anger was now dead and forgotten.

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 **Author's Note:**

It only took 21 chapters but thank you to my loyal and faithful readers for remaining patient.

I felt that with the built up tension, passion and love between these two characters, it only made sense to make for an unexpected and passionately angry love scene unlike any other Quasi x OC story you may have read.

I hope you enjoyed it!

There is still much more to come.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

" _The righteous choose their friends carefully, but the way of the wicked leads them astray."_

 _Proverbs 12:26_

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"Safira?"

She heard the faint calling of her name, forcing her sleepy eyes to open slightly. She lay on her side, facing the door to Quasimodo's bedroom. She looked at the door in confusion, momentarily forgetting where she was. A heavy arm draped lazily around her waist prevented her from sitting up. She looked over her shoulder towards a sleeping, and undressed, Quasimodo.

"Safira, are you here?" Phoebus' voice called out a bit closer this time.

Her eyes widened as everything was beginning to come back to her. She scanned her surroundings almost frantically. She began to panic as she sat up, shoving Quasimodo's arm off of her. Bringing her hands to the sleeping hunchback, she began to shake him roughly.

"Quasimodo, wake up!"

He began to stir slowly before he brought a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes.

"What?" He grumbled sleepily.

"Wake up!" She urged him as she stood up and began to look for something to cover herself with, "Phoebus is coming!"

"Safira, is that you?" Phoebus' voice was getting closer.

The sound of Phoebus' voice brought realization to Quasimodo. He opened his eyes fully, one look at the naked woman brought all the memories back from last night. He leaped out of bed and immediately grabbed his clothes, dressing himself clumsily through a sleepy haze.

"Hurry up!" Safira whispered anxiously as Phoebus' footsteps became louder.

As Phoebus climbed up the steps to the bell tower, Quasimodo had just managed to get dressed when Safira kicked him out of the bedroom to greet Phoebus. The soldier immediately looked towards the hunchback who nearly tripped at being shoved out of his bedroom.

"Oh hey, Quasi," Phoebus paused, frowning suddenly, "What happened to your face?"

Quasimodo brought his hand to his cheek and could feel a soreness from where Safira had punched him in her fury last night. There was no doubt the beginnings of what would become a harsh bruise.

"I-I hurt myself while cleaning the bells," He offered before quickly changing the subject, "W-What can I do for you?"

Phoebus continued to eye Quasimodo's bruised face worriedly even as he spoke.

"I'm really sorry to barge in here so early but Safira went missing last night. Mother's really worried."

"O-Oh," Quasimodo did his best to look alarmed, "N-N-No, I didn't see her. I-I mean, I saw her around town but I don't know where she would be… at the moment."

"That's so strange," Phoebus rubbed his chin in thought.

Quasimodo looked down at the floor and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of Safira's ripped clothes. As Phoebus pondered out loud to himself, Quasimodo stood in front of the torn blouse and began to slowly kick the article of clothing underneath his table. He paused when Phoebus turned his full attention back to him.

"You're sure she didn't see her?"

"I'm sure," He lied.

"Because when I last spoke to her last night, she was on her way to the cathedral," Phoebus informed him suspiciously, "And I have questioned people who state they saw her enter the church last night around the time she went missing."

Quasimodo felt his heart stop.

"Oh!" Quasimodo slapped his hand to his forehead as if he remembering something, "Right! She came up for a moment but she left soon after. She just wanted a glimpse of the old place, you know."

Judging by the look on Phoebus' face, Quasimodo wasn't sure if he believed him or not. Within the next room was the naked sister of one of his best friends who just so happened to be Captain of the Guards. It was a dilemma that would have caused anyone great anxiety. He was ready to just break down and confess until a smile broke out on Phoebus' face.

"She probably went off to the tavern afterwards," Phoebus concluded suddenly, "You know that woman loves her bourbon!"

Quasimodo laughed nervously, "Boy, do I…"

"Well, I'll leave you be, Quasi," Phoebus nodded dismissively, "But if you see her, let her know mother is worried sick. And be more careful when you clean the bells, will you?"

"I will."

Quasimodo waited until he could no longer hear Phoebus' footsteps before he darted towards the bedroom. He stopped before entering, knocking carefully.

"S-Safira?" He called out, "Are you… decent?"

His answer was the swift opening of the door. He stepped back in alarm as Safira appeared through the door with only a sheet of blanket covering her form. He stood by, shyly wringing his wrists as she walked past him to gather her clothes on the floor.

"It's a bit late for any sort of decency, isn't it?" She questioned dryly.

She dropped the sheet boldly and began to dress. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye; he was rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. Safira grabbed her torn blouse and handed it to him with a raised eyebrow.

"O-Oh!" He exclaimed before rushing off to grab one of his tunics to replace the tattered top.

She slid her trousers and boots on, and awaited the hunchback's return. When he brought her a large tunic, she took it and watched as he turned his back to her. She found his shy behavior endearingly puzzling; despite having ravished her last night, he was still a gentleman the following morning.

As she placed the tunic over her head, all that ran through her mind were visions of their passionate lovemaking; she felt a stirring in between her legs just remembering the echo of their pants as they clung to each others sweating bodies. As she ran her fingers through her tousled hair, she cleared her throat.

"You can look now."

Quasimodo hesitantly turned his body towards her but his eyes remained elsewhere. She raised an eyebrow at him as she wrapped the excess cloth of the large tunic around her waist, rolling it upwards to keep it in place.

"You can't even look at me," She pointed out as she walked over to her sword that had been thrown onto the floor.

She picked it up before turning to look at the timid man. He said nothing.

"You seemed to be able to look at me very well last night," She continued, noting how his face was slowly becoming pinker.

She was met with silence as he nervously cracked his knuckles.

"Relax," She sighed as she tucked her hair inside of her hat, "Phoebus will never find out."

If she had thought he was worried about being subjected to a brother's wrath, she was only partially correct. The mix of emotions that built inside Quasimodo proved to be overwhelming. He felt guilt for bedding his dear friend's sister in such a shameful manner, ashamed of the lust he had succumbed to – the lust Frollo had taught him was incredibly sinful in the eyes of God – and confusion of the status of his relationship with Safira. It was beyond a sexually tense friendship yet not a romantic relationship; it was incredibly confusing.

Safira was growing impatient at Quasimodo's silence and inability to make eye contact with her.

"I better go," She announced suddenly as she wrapped her sword tightly around her waist.

When he did nothing but nod quietly, she walked out of the bell tower to leave him to his thoughts. Quasimodo finally sat down, exhaling heavily as he had been holding his breath. He rubbed his eyes hard as he thought about the blue-eyed goddess who had consumed his thoughts from the moment he had met her.

Before last night, they hadn't even spoken in weeks. He had been unable to stomach seeing her after he had falsely assumed she and Dimitri were lovers. As the days passed, his hurt over Dimitri was being replaced by the even bigger hurt of not seeing her. With Madellaine's help last night, he had actually been planning on seeing Safira the following day before she had barged into the bell tower.

After Madellaine had returned to the bell tower to apologize to him, they had taken a walk through Paris only to rush to the cathedral when it began to pour. He started a fire to keep them warm and as they sat down, they began to talk. Talking to Madellaine felt natural and before he knew it, he was venting to the kind-hearted girl about his troubles. He had told Madellaine about his friendship with Safira – leaving out the important details of her past. He admitted to her his heartbreak when he found out she was not only seeing someone else but that she had lied about it by telling him Dimitri was no one to her.

"Well," Madellaine had begun gently, "Even if you can't be with her, do you think you could find happiness in the fact that she's happy?"

Quasimodo didn't have to think for long before he admitted he could. If being with Dimitri brought Safira happiness and a chance at a normal future with a husband and children, Quasimodo wanted it for her. Even if he had to watch her love another man, he would gladly do so for her.

"You're right, Madellaine," Quasimodo had smiled at her, "Thank you."

That was when Safira had stormed into the bell tower like a mad woman. Just thinking about it reminded Quasimodo of Madellaine's reaction to her presence as well as the way she addressed Safira as "John." As the recollections came to Quasimodo, he squinted his eyes in deep thought.

He stood up and left the cathedral in search of answers.

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Safira managed to make it out of the church without being noticed by anyone. That is, anyone but Dimitri. He had been waiting outside of the church for her, leaning against the stone walls with his foot propped up behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Safira noticed him from the corner of her eyes and rolled her eyes, attempting to walk swiftly away from him before he approached her but he was already rushing over to walk with her.

"My lady-"

"What do you want, Dimitri?" She spoke through gritted teeth.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior-"

"I thought I told you 'apology accepted' now will you please-"

"I know what's going with the circus girl!" He exclaimed rather loudly.

Safira stopped in her tracks and turned to him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a quiet corner, speaking in a harsh whisper.

"Are you out of your mind?!" She hissed lowly, "Why don't you scream it from the cathedral rooftop while you're at it?!"

"I'm sorry," He lowered his voice, glancing both ways in paranoia.

"How much do you know?" Safira feared the worst, "And more so, how did you find out?"

Her investigation was taking a turn for the worst. First, Quasimodo and now Dimitri was becoming much too involved. She looked at him with anxious expectancy, fearful that he knew of Sarousch. She was unprepared for the following sentence that came from his lips.

"I kind of put it together," He spoke quietly, "This new persona and all the time you've been spending with the girl… My lady, had I known you were interested in the fairer sex, I wouldn't have thrown myself at you so."

Safira blinked for a moment, taking in his words.

"What?" She finally asked in utter confusion.

"The girl," He repeated, "She's your lover. I mean, at first I thought I was mistaken until I saw you storm in after her last night at the church."

"Have you been following me?!" She gripped his tunic fiercely, her face now visibly angry, "Did the judge ask you to watch me?!"

"No, no!" He exclaimed, grabbing her wrists and forcing her grip off of him, "I followed you on my accord."

She shook her head, scowling at him in disgust.

"You're one creepy bastard, Dimitri. You know that, right?"

"I've heard that once or twice before," He rubbed the back of his head embarrassingly, "I was just so crazy about you, I wanted to see what the cause was of your rejection and now I know why."

She had been ready to fully deny his ludicrous idea at first. Then when she stopped to think about it, she decided it was best he believe she and Madellaine were lovers rather than know the truth. She glanced around them, hoping no one had heard their conversation.

"Just keep it to yourself," She warned him.

"Does she know that you're really a woman?" He asked nosily.

"Not yet…" She rubbed her temple, suddenly aware of her headache.

"You can't keep that a secret from her forever, my lady."

"Just Safira," She corrected him, "And I don't intend to. I'm waiting for the right time."

"Well," He finally smiled, "I wish you luck, my la-, I mean, Safira. She is a very lucky woman."

Safira crossed her arms over her chest as she glowered at the moronic man. Despite how annoying he was, he was harmless.

"Thanks. Now will you please stop following me?"

"I will," He promised with a wide grin, "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a pretty young florist that I haven't seen in a while."

She rolled her eyes as he departed eagerly towards the flower shop, oblivious to Madellaine who had been watching them from afar. The shy girl waited until Dimitri left before she began to walk towards Safira.

"John?" Madellaine spoke up timidly, bringing Safira's blue eyes towards her.

"Madellaine?" She frowned, not having expected to see her, "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried," She admitted, rubbing her arm, "I mean, after last night."

Safira felt a ton of a bricks fall on her as she remembered her overreaction to Madellaine's presence in the bell tower. Embarrassed of her jealousy and guilty over chasing Madellaine out, she lowered her eyes to the ground as she cleared her suddenly dry throat.

"About that," Safira began awkwardly, "I apologize."

"I just don't understand… why you were so angry at me?"

"I don't know," Safira looked up now, "I suppose when I heard you were with the bell ringer, I snapped."

It was the truth but Madellaine didn't take it the way Safira had meant it. She smiled lightly at her, flattered by Safira's jealousy.

"You needn't worry," Madellaine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "I only wanted to apologize to him for my rudeness and we ended up talking for a while. You were right, he is a wonderful person."

Safira's face softened, the gentlest smile gracing her lips. Madellaine loved that smile. She couldn't help but notice it only crossed the others face when Quasimodo was discussed.

"I hope you weren't too hard on him," Madellaine mumbled as they began to walk.

"He was hard on me," Safira replied dryly.

 _Or "in" me, I should say..._

"But we worked out our differences," She assured the startled girl.

"Good," She smiled up at her, "Besides… it would be a shame to ruin a good friendship over something so silly."

"Indeed it would."

"Especially when he's already head over heels over someone else."

Safira tripped clumsily, catching herself before she fell. Madellaine frowned as she helped the other girl steady herself.

"What are you talking about?" Safira asked her.

"He never told you about her? That's surprising. He's in love with a girl named Sa... Sarabi?" Madellaine rubbed her head as she struggled to remember the girl's name.

"S-Safira?" She choked out.

"Yes!" Madellaine nodded with a wide grin, "Poor man. He was so hurt when he found out she was seeing a soldier."

"What do you mean seeing a soldier?" She questioned her with a deep frown.

"Apparently," Madellaine began her gossip eagerly, "He was on his way to tell her how he felt when he saw them kissing. He was so heartbroken about it, he changed his mind about telling her. I feel so sorry for him... It must be awful to see the person you love in the arms of another."

Madellaine looked genuinely saddened as she told Safira the story Quasimodo had told her. Safira was shaking as she took in her words, paling. She thought back to when Quasimodo had demanded she leave the bell tower which led to nearly a month of not speaking to each other. Had that been why? Because he saw that idiot kiss her?

"I wonder who she is anyway," She thought out loud to herself before turning to Safira, "Have you met her, by any chance?"

"I know who she is," She confirmed slowly.

 _And I am definitely_ not _seeing that moronic soldier._

Madellaine looked up at her now with the intention of asking further questions about this "Safira" until she took in the sudden sickly look on the others face.

"Are you alright, John? You look a bit pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine," She waved her hand dismissively, "I just remembered I have business to take care of. I'll stop by after your act."

Safira had already been running off mid-sentence, leaving Madellaine standing confusedly.

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Safira headed towards the circus in a rush, cursing herself for forgetting all about Sarousch yesterday. With both Madellaine and Quasimodo consuming her thoughts, she had managed to waste an entire day of an already short deadline. As she darted towards Sarousch's tent, excuses played in her head to explain why she had disappeared yesterday. She reached for her silver necklace and yanked it off; it would only be worse if she arrived empty-handed.

When she reached his tent, she was relieved to see it was unguarded. She stood before it, clearing her throat as she brought her voice to a low husk.

"Sarousch? It's John."

"Come in," Came the immediate response.

She slid inside, clasping her necklace tightly. Sarousch was sitting in his chair in front of his mirror, admiring his reflection. He turned to face her, the smirk on his face throwing her off. She had expected him to be angry with her.

"Well, well, well," He chuckled, "Look who decided to show up. Maybe when we head out of Paris, you can put that disappearing act to good use."

"I apologize, sir," She spoke carefully, "I had an unsuccessful day yesterday and didn't want to return empty-handed."

"Yes, I heard," He sat back, his hands clasped calmly on his lap, "Of your little run in this morning with a soldier, if my contacts are correct."

She realized he spoke of Dimitri. Gritting her teeth, she made a mental note to slap him over the head next time she saw him. But if he had heard of Dimitri already then it meant she was being followed; what else had his men seen...?

"You know, I can't risk having someone in my circle who is careless enough to be questioned by the authorities," He stood up now, his hands clasping behind his back as he stared at her.

"That soldier wasn't suspicious of me," She clarified, "He had a few questions regarding the string of robberies but I was able to send his focus elsewhere."

"Nevertheless, it's going to take a lot to gain my confidence in you again."

"Is this a good start?" She tossed him the silver necklace.

He brought his hand from his back in time to catch it. He looked down at the valuable piece of jewelry blankly, rubbing his thumb across the crescent moon pendant. She watched him carefully as he looked upon the valuable piece of jewelry in almost a trance. He finally looked up at her expressionlessly, providing a curt nod.

"Alright," He relented as he gripped the pendant, the chain hanging from his hand, "I'll give you another shot."

"Thank you," She almost sighed in relief.

"But this necklace isn't quite enough," He continued firmly, "Maybe you can convince me that I can depend on you by doing what Madellaine failed to do."

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

Sarousch turned his back to her to hide the necklace in a secret compartment as he spoke.

"I instructed that foolish girl to obtain information I need on a bell inside the cathedral; one that is worth a fortune in jewels and gold," Sarousch turned back to face her, "But it seems she refuses to cooperate."

 _Good girl, Maddy._

"I need you to clear the bell tower for me," He asked of her, "My men and I will go in and search for it ourselves tomorrow night."

"I can do that," She confirmed.

It sounded simple enough. In fact, it was almost too good to be true. Sarousch was practically walking into the jail cell on his own.

"Excellent," Sarousch smirked as he approached Safira.

She looked up into his cold dark blue eyes as he brought a hand to her shoulder. The cold smile on his face reached his eyes.

"I knew I could count on you, dear boy."

She tightened her lips, nodding. He pat her shoulder before she turned and exited the tent. Sarousch turned back to the compartment in which he hid the necklace, his eyes narrowing in deep thought.

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"Are you sure that's his next move?" Phoebus questioned Safira as they hid behind an alleyway in the slums of Paris.

"Yes," She nodded eagerly, "He is expecting the bell tower to be cleared tomorrow night. He's after a jewel-encrusted bell."

"Is there such a bell?" Phoebus' eyebrows raised.

"No," She scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "He's crazy but the slightest hint of an attack and he's gone."

"Got it," Phoebus nodded, "I'll let the judge know to ready our best soldiers."

"Good," She began to turn away from him, "I better go-"

"Hey, wait!" Phoebus leapt forward and took a hold of her arm to prevent her from leaving, "I've been meaning to ask you… what happened last night?"

"What do you mean?" Her heart skipped a beat but her face remained neutral as she gently moved her arm away from his grasp.

"With Quasi? I went over this morning and he looked like he got a good deck to the face. That wouldn't have happened to be from you, would it?"

"We got into a little… argument," She admitted.

The look of deep disapproval on his face almost made her wince. As if she didn't feel bad enough about having lost her temper.

"It wouldn't have happened to be about that circus girl, would it?"

"She has a name, you know," She crossed her arms over her chest, "And that's none of your business."

Safira's defensiveness was answer enough for Phoebus. It almost made him smile to know Safira had been jealous of Quasimodo's friendship with the girl. Apparently, jealous enough to bruise his face.

"Just go talk to Judge Leopold," She grumbled lowly.

Phoebus watched his sister retreat grimly. He rubbed his chin in deep thought, processing the information she had given him. It all seemed too simple. Sarousch was making his capture easy for them. Despite his suspicions, he pushed his soldier instincts aside as he headed to the Palace of Justice.

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 **Author's Note:**

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Leave your thoughts, opinions, predictions, etc!

~ Laruto


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

" _But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!"_

 _Amos 5:24_

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When the sun had been put to bed, Safira snuck eagerly towards the cathedral. She hadn't met up with Madellaine after today's performance, deciding it best to keep herself at a safe distance from the circus until tomorrow when the arrest would be made. Even so, she knew it was probably not the best idea to head back to the cathedral so soon but needed to see Quasimodo right away.

After Madellaine's unintentional reveal of Quasimodo's feelings for her, Safira needed to set the record straight. He needed to know that she was not involved with Dimitri and was definitely not in love with him – it would be impossible to love Dimitri when she was already deeply in love with Quasimodo. She hadn't admitted it to herself until the fury of seeing him with Madellaine allowed her to.

She could now understand why he had so coldly distanced himself from her. Whereas Safira handed her jealousy directly, Quasimodo's passiveness made for a less dramatic display of it. She didn't know what she was going to say or even how to begin to tell him that she knew of his feelings. All she knew was that she needed to prevent any more days of him thinking his love for her was unrequited, especially after last night.

When she arrived at the cathedral, she made her way quickly towards the bell tower. She called out for him as she climbed up the steps.

"Quasimodo?"

She ran into the bell tower, her eyes scanning the area. It was empty. She rubbed her head through her hat in confusion. Where could he possibly be? She jumped at the sudden sound of a stranger's voice.

"Quasimodo isn't here."

She turned in alarm to face the familiar voice and immediately scowled at the sight of Dimitri.

"Dimitri, what the hell are you doing here?" She scowled darkly, "I thought I told you to stop following me."

"Safira," He spoke with his hand over his chest, "I just had to ask for your forgiveness."

"I told you I accepted your apology," She began to walk past him in annoyance but he quickly grabbed her arm none too gently, pulling her back.

Her eyes met his and she was startled by the sudden coldness in those usually warm hazel eyes.

"This is a different apology."

She swallowed her spit as she allowed him to hold onto her for the time being. Staring up into his eyes, she could feel her blood running cold.

"For what?" She spoke in a hushed whisper.

He yanked her arm swiftly behind her back, forcing her back against his chest. The sound of his sword unsheathing rung in her ears before she felt the cold metal press lightly against her neck. She looked ahead with wide eyes and was met with the cruel smile of Sarousch.

"For this," Dimitri whispered into her ear.

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Madellaine walked quietly with Quasimodo, tucking her hair behind her ear. She felt incredibly guilty even doing this with him. After today's performance, Sarousch had pulled her aside and demand that she lead the hunchback out of the bell tower so that he could get his hands on that bell. When Madellaine refused, Sarousch threatened to bring harm to both Safira and Quasimodo. Madellaine had no choice but to follow through with their plan; she would rather deceive Quasimodo for all of their sake than to bring him – or Safira – any harm.

Quasimodo couldn't help but notice the seriousness of her expression or how quiet she was being. While Madellaine and Safira had spent their day being manipulated by Sarousch, Quasimodo took it upon himself to question both Phoebus and Esmeralda about Safira's sudden disappearances and the secrets that were slowly coming out.

Though Phoebus had insisted that he knew nothing of Safira's new persona, Esmeralda had been more giving in the information he gave her. He had been shocked to find out that she was in disguise under the judge's order to catch a criminal – a criminal whom they suspected to be none other than the circus ringleader which explained why Safira had been investigating Madellaine under a different identity.

He hadn't approved of her tactics as Madellaine seemed quite fond of this "John" that Safira was pretending to be. Esmeralda had defended Safira fiercely, assuring Quasimodo that she didn't feel nothing towards Madellaine and had even expressed her concern for the circus girl. Everything Safira was doing was logical but it didn't make it right in the hunchback's eyes.

Even now, as he looked upon Madellaine's tense face, he sympathized with her.

"Is everything alright, Madellaine?" He questioned worriedly, "You seem awfully quiet tonight."

She almost broke down in that moment. She sighed lowly, managing to force a light smile as she looked ahead.

"I'm fine. I just have a lot on my mind."

"Is it… John?"

"He's part of it," Madellaine admitted, "He told me of your little spat but he never mentioned how bad it got."

She was, of course, speaking of Quasimodo's obvious injuries.

"He has quite a temper," Quasimodo chuckled as he rubbed his bruised cheek.

"It's funny, he didn't strike me as that type," She admitted.

"He's a different person around you."

Madellaine didn't seem to catch Quasimodo's true meaning behind his words. Instead, she looked at him with saddened eyes, stopping in front of the city's fountain. Quasimodo continued to study her face, a complexity of emotions fluttering across her lovely features.

"What is it?" Quasimodo frowned.

She seemed to hesitate. She brought her hands to her eyes, rubbing the moisture that built up within them.

"Quasimodo, I know he's a woman."

Madellaine's words were like a fierce punch to his stomach. His eyes widened as he looked at her, her face pained as she struggled to keep her composure.

"W-What?"

Madellaine exhaled shakily, hands pressed against her eyes.

"I've been… lying to him – or her. To both of you."

Quasimodo's face darkened at her words.

"Madellaine, tell me the truth."

She removed her hands from her face as she turned towards him. In her eyes was so much shame.

"Sarousch knows who she is. He didn't at first but when she brought him a necklace, he knew for sure who she was."

"H-How?" He felt the color draining from his face.

"He stole that necklace from aristocrats, that one along with only a few others. After such a risky and expensive heist, he said he'd never forget what they look like or who they went to. I don't know if you've heard the stories but... He sold a pair of necklaces to a soldier who apparently was the father of the missing girl who ended up being the Black Soldier-"

"Wait, wait!" Quasimodo held his hands up, his breathing now shorter and faster, "You're saying Sarousch knew who Safira was this whole time?!"

Madellaine's eyes flickered with horror, "That's who Safira is?"

"Yes!" He brought his hands to his head, panicking, "We have to tell Phoebus! She's in trouble!"

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Safira sat on a chair inside of the bell tower, ropes wrapping tightly around her ankles and wrists painfully as they interloped with the wooden seat. Her hat had been knocked off during the struggle, spilling her hair down wildly. She stared daggers at Dimitri who stood before her, his sword pointing at her throat. Sarousch and his men were currently climbing the bell tower in search of the jeweled bell they believed to exist.

As she stared into Dimitri's cold eyes, she could only ask one question:

"Why?"

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"Why?" He repeated.

He seemed calm initially which left her unprepared for the fierce backhand he gave her. The force of his hand knocked her head to the side. She took in deep, shallow breaths as she turned back to look at him, blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

"Why?!" He roared now, bringing his hands to the chair's armrests, leaning forward until their faces were a mere breath's apart.

"I'll tell you why," He whispered darkly as his eyes bore into hers, "You humiliated me… You discharged me and I was forced to return to my family in shame! My career as a soldier was over before it began because of _you_!"

"Your career ended because you were a moron!" She shouted against his face, bucking forward aggressively, "I always knew you'd end up like you are now: _worthless_!"

He stared at her with so much hatred, she expected him to strike her again. Instead, he laughed in such a way that made her wonder how small of a grip he had on his own sanity. He moved away from her slowly.

"You'll regret everything you ever said or did to me," Dimitri promised her.

"So all of this was a setup?" She questioned.

"Most of it," He shrugged, "When I first came to Sarousch with the proposition, he wasn't the least bit interested. He hadn't believed me when I told him that this 'John' character was in fact Safira de Chataupers, formerly known as Sacha Charbonneau, was working undercover by order of the judge. But you did me a favor by giving him that necklace of yours. It's not a piece of jewelry he would forget stealing, you know. After you gave it to him, he approached me and agreed to our deal."

"Which is?" She raised an eyebrow, hiding her fear well.

"I would make sure he gets to this prized bell he's been looking for and leave Paris undetected as long as he left me you. He wanted to kill you himself but I managed to convince him otherwise."

"How kind of you," She spat sarcastically, "So you'll kill me and then what? You think that will change anything?"

"No," He admitted with a twisted grin, "But I'll feel a hell of a lot better knowing the great Black Soldier died by my hand. If that doesn't redeem me, I don't know what else will."

"You'll never get away with this. The minister-"

"Will not care," He snapped at her, "And I'll be gone along with Sarousch before Phoebus can get his hands on me. As for the girl and that hunchback-"

"You leave them out of this!" She screamed suddenly, hinting to Dimitri that he had struck a nerve.

"Oh, don't you worry, I'll make sure her death is quick and painless. I rather like her. She's tamed as a woman should be," He admired his blade as he spoke as if he fantasized about how he would kill her, "And the hunchback…"

He looked up now, a grin slowly making it's way back to his handsome face.

"... Really, Safira?" He scoffed in disbelief.

Dimitri burst into cruel laughter. He laughed so hard that he actually bent over, his hands resting on his knee. She narrowed her eyes at him until he finished laughing to address her once more.

"I saw you two that night, you know, when you chased that poor girl out of the cathedral. I must say you're quite a spitfire; I'll have to have a go before I kill you."

Her cheeks scalded in fury at his crude words.

"Aren't you afraid to breed with that monster?" He asked her with a somber surprise, "Your poor children could inherit his grotesque condition-"

Safira nearly thrashed in her chair, growling furiously at his words. He watched her in amusement until Sarousch's face came from above the bell tower.

"It's not here!"

Dimitri frowned as he walked further towards the beams, peering up at the men who searched frantically for the bell. Sarousch descended immediately until he stood at the first beam right above Dimitri. The look on Sarousch's face was frightening.

"You're simply not looking hard enough!" Dimitri snapped at him before turning to Safira, "Have her help you find it!"

Dimitri charged towards Safira, sheathing his sword for only a moment before he began to untie her.

"If you even try to escape, I'll slit your throat," He whispered into her ear from behind, "After I have my way with you on this very floor."

She clenched her jaw as he untied her. She did as told and remained still. She felt the ropes slide off of her wrists and ankles, freeing her from the chair.

"Stand up," He ordered her.

She obeyed. She could feel the tip of his sword pointing at her back, daring her to move.

"Go on!" Dimitri barked impatiently.

Safira began to walk towards the ladder that led up to the bells, climbing up until she reached the wooden beam. She hopped onto the ledge, facing Sarousch. Dimitri climbed up after her, pushing her towards the angry gypsy.

"You're in my way," She spoke to Sarousch.

He narrowed his eyes at her before peeking past her at Dimitri. Whatever Dimitri signaled, it obviously gave him enough comfort to turn his back to her and begin walking.

"Take a left," She instructed him, walking shakily across the beam.

Dimitri noticed the tension in her body as well as the wavering in her voice.

"What's the matter, _Captain_?" Dimitri spoke the last word with such venom, "Afraid of heights?"

She didn't answer. Instead she waited until Sarousch turned the corner onto the second beam before she suddenly fell face forward onto the beam. Sarousch turned to look upon them impatiently. Dimitri was ready to kick the clumsy girl who had fallen until she supported her upper body on the beam and swung her leg fiercely over his, tripping him.

He attempted to catch his balance but with a loud cry, he fell backwards. He waved his arms violently as he reached for the beam, managing to grab it. He was clinging off the edge of the wooden beam for dear life.

"Get her!" Dimitri shouted towards Sarousch.

Safira stood up swiftly and jumped across onto the next beam, gasping as she clung off the edge. She swung her legs onto it, climbing it swiftly. She stood and began to run without hesitation.

"Get back here, you little tart!" Sarousch's voice could be heard behind her as she began to climb up higher.

She panted, her heart racing as Sarousch's footsteps along with his men's were following after her. She looked around frantically before her eyes locked onto a rope that connected to one of the bells. As she raced for it, she prayed to God that she would be able to ring it and that someone would come. She reached for it and hung off of it with all her might. She was rewarded with the sweet deafening sound of one of the smaller, high-pitched bell. She pulled it over and over until she noticed the group of men coming straight for her.

Without a second thought, she let go of the bell and fell several feet to the floor. She cried out as she landed on her arm, her eyes stinging with tears as she heard the sickening crunch of the bones. She was breathing heavily as she attempted to stand.

A sharp, swift pain to her ribs forced her back down. She grunted in agony as she lay on her back, cradling her arm against herself. She looked up with pained eyes to see Dimitri. She was breathing heavily, her body wracking with pain. She winced when he reached down, grabbing her by her blouse to drag her towards the table where she and Quasimodo spent countless hours carving wood.

He tossed her onto the table, knocking over every piece of art the gentle giant had created. Her head slammed against the table, bringing a wave of dizziness over her. She gasped when she felt his hands wrap around her neck.

"There is no such bell, is there?!" He shouted down at her venomously, squeezing her neck slowly.

She gasped out, her eyes wide as she brought her uninjured arm to his face, attempting to scratch at it but he merely brought one of his hands to her arm and pinned it down painfully. He leaned forward, settling his hips in between her legs as he shuddered against her cheek, the hand on her throat still squeezing.

"You have never looked as beautiful as you do now," He whispered against her flesh before placing a mockingly tender kiss upon it, "When I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to kill you."

Safira felt her tears run down the corner of her eyes as she struggled to breathe. The people she loved flashed before her very eyes as she made pathetic efforts to fight off the man who was attempting to murder her.

She nearly lost consciousness when suddenly the hand around her throat disappeared. She gasped loudly, her body greedily taking in every ounce of air that had been deprived of her. She was unable to sit up as she coughed shakily. What sounded like metal clashing and armor echoed through the bell tower as several of Leopold's soldiers invaded the cathedral.

"Safira!" Phoebus' voice came faintly to the barely conscious woman as he rushed over to her.

She winced when he quickly scooped her up from the table, carrying her in his arms. She watched with half-lidded eyes at the man who had pulled Dimitri off of her. Through hazy eyesight, she could see Quasimodo beating Dimitri mercilessly, the sounds of his large fists connecting to the smaller man's body was enough to bring a cringe out of anyone in the room. Phoebus, however, did nothing to stop it until Madellaine cried out in alarm.

"Stop him! He's going to kill him!"

Phoebus nodded to his soldiers, giving them the okay to intervene. It took four soldiers to remove the raging man from Dimitri who was now lying unconsciously on the floor. Madellaine feared the worst, her hands on her mouth in horror as she gazed upon the bloodied man. A fifth soldier came to kneel down beside Dimitri.

"He's still alive," He confirmed, much to Quasimodo's displeasure.

The soldiers who had ascended up to the bells did not return empty handed. With Sarousch and his men in custody, they began to walk them down with their weapons at the ready.

"Take these men directly to the Palace of Justice!" Phoebus barked at the soldiers.

Madellaine watched with a racing heart as Sarousch's hands were wrapped behind his back in tight rope along with his henchman and escorted out of the cathedral.

Two soldiers grabbed a hold of Dimitri's arms and began to drag the unconscious man out none too gently. When the man was dragged out of the bell tower, the four soldiers holding Quasimodo back slowly released him. Phoebus began to walk out of the bell tower with Safira in his arms, Madellaine and Quasimodo following closely behind. The soldiers who had held Quasimodo back walked ahead of them and thankfully so.

When they exited the cathedral, it was surrounded by the curious people of Paris who had heard the bell ringing at such an odd time. Among the crowd were the horrified faces of Esmeralda and Chandra who were shoving past the mass of people.

"Make way!" The soldiers announced, waving the people aside.

Chandra and Esmeralda were held back by the soldiers as they made their way towards Phoebus.

"Ladies, we need you to step back," One of the soldiers spoke firmly.

"That's my daughter!" Chandra exclaimed desperately, her eyes watering.

"Captain's order, my lady," The man insisted.

Phoebus tried his best to keep Safira shielded from his mother and wife as he made his way to the Palace of Justice. He looked down at her, overwhelmed with relief as she looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. He had been just in time.

"We got him?" She whispered softly.

"We got him," He confirmed, offering a comforting smile.

"That's good," The corners of her lips tilted upward in the faintest of smiles.

The sound of the crowd began to dull down as she submitted to her exhaustion and everything turned black.

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 **Author's Note:**

One of my favorite chapters that I've written.

I hope you enjoyed the twist.

~ Laruto


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

" _Greater lover has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."_

 _John 15:13_

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Pain.

That's the first thing Safira woke up to. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking her blurred vision away. She began to stir and immediately noticing her tightly bandaged arm held against her by a simple white cloth that draped over her shoulder. She looked around the empty, unfamiliar room with wary eyes as she forced herself to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed slowly.

She noticed the portrait of the King of France hung on the wall across from where the bed she lay in. There was only one place she would see that type of art: a palace of law or royalty. She opted for the first and assumed she was in upper levels of The Palace of Justice. She looked to her right and immediately noticed the small end table beside her bed.

On the table was a variety of items; burnt out candles, a small hand mirror, religious jewelry and a mortar and pestle that contained traces of strong-smelling herbs. She came to the conclusion that a medicine woman was brought to her – most likely the same woman who had tended to her after Frollo's death. Safira reached for the small hand mirror, bringing it to her face. She grimaced at her reflection.

Her cheek was heavily bruised from where Dimitri had backhanded her. Upon her neck were fresh blue and purple marks, forming into clear imprints of hands around her throat. She shook her head, setting the mirror back only to notice another item on the table that she had almost missed. Reaching out for the wooden figurine, she immediately recognized it. It had been the last one Quasimodo carved of Safira. She smiled lightly, running her thumb over it lovingly before bringing it to her lips, placing a soft kiss on it.

The sound of the door opening startled her from her tender moment.

She was met with the sight of Chandra, Phoebus and Esmeralda. Chandra had walked in first, expecting to see Safira still asleep. When she saw her daughter sitting up, she nearly broke down.

"Oh, darling!" Chandra rushed to her, "You're awake!"

Safira held back a cry of pain as Chandra wrapped her arms around her injured daughter. Safira brought her free hand to Chandra's back comfortingly as the woman burst into tears. Phoebus, noting Safira's pained expression, spoke gently to his mother.

"Careful there, mother."

Chandra immediately released Safira and moved to sit beside her. Esmeralda sat on Safira's other side, bringing a hand to the girl's knee worriedly.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Chandra questioned her.

"Yes, are you in any pain?" Esmeralda frowned.

"I'm fine," Safira brushed the questions aside, turning to Phoebus, "What happened with Sarousch? Where's Quasimodo? And Madellaine? Where am I, for that matter?"

"Quasi and the girl are fine," Phoebus assured her as he grabbed a chair to sit across from her, "As for Sarousch and Dimitri… they're to be detained at his Majesty's pleasure. And you're in the Palace of Justice; Judge Leopold insisted you heal here."

Safira couldn't help but wonder why Madellaine and Quasimodo weren't present. She felt a need to see them; Quasimodo, especially.

"Where are they?"

"Quasi wanted to come see you. But after he nearly beat Dimitri to death, he's been forbidden from entering the building as long as Dimitri is being held here for the bastard's safety."

"And Madellaine?"

"For the time being the judge has filed a restraining order against her to keep you safe."

"Keep me safe? From Maddie?" She blinked.

"I demanded it," Chandra spoke up now, her expression grim.

Safira turned to look at her mother in shock. Phoebus wished his mother hadn't gone into detail as he knew Safira wouldn't react to the news very well.

"Why would you do that?" She questioned her in disbelief.

"Don't get me started," Chandra huffed, "That girl played a large part in getting you hurt."

No one but Safira and Quasimodo had seen the type of person Madellaine truly was. She had simply been a weak girl, manipulated by a cruel and calculating man into doing his bidding. She had redeemed herself in the end – much like Quasimodo did when he had been Frollo's pawn.

"It's not her fault-" Safira began to defend her.

"It's only temporary," Phoebus interrupted her reassuringly, "Until he feels she has proven that she means you no further harm."

"This is ridiculous," Safira shook her head, standing up, "I'm going to speak to the judge."

"Darling, please," Chandra stood up with her, placing her hands on her shoulders to turn her towards her.

"Madellaine is innocent!" Safira insisted.

"Not in my eyes!" Chandra's face became firm.

Safira stared hard at her mother. She wanted to be angry at her for interfering. As she looked into her mother's wide blue eyes, Safira maintained control of her temper. After a tense moment of silence, she looked over her shoulder at Phoebus and Esmeralda.

"Can you give us a moment?"

"Sure," Phoebus nodded towards Esmeralda who immediately stood and followed her husband out of the room.

When the door closed and they were left alone, Safira turned back to Chandra. She gripped the wooden figurine in her hand in attempt to calm herself before she spoke.

"Madellaine is my friend-"

"She is a criminal," Chandra interrupted her stubbornly.

"She put herself in a lot of danger by helping me."

"By the time she decided to help you were already being held hostage!"

"She didn't have to help at all!"

Chandra dropped her hands from Safira's shoulders with a sigh. She rubbed her eyes frustratingly. She knew there would be no success in trying to get Safira to see her point of view.

"Just… let this restraining order be for the time being. Just so I can finally get some sleep."

Safira's face slowly relaxed as it dawned on her. She began to understand where Chandra's rash thinking was coming from. She was simply being an overprotective mother. Safira placed herself in her mother's shoes; she had lost Safira once and had been threatened with losing her again – she was taking measures to ensure her daughter's safety. Safira couldn't very well be angry with her for that. In fact... it was touching.

"Very well," Safira sat back down slowly.

Chandra looked down at Safira gently, "I'm doing this to make sure you're safe."

"I know… mother," Safira looked up at her, a light smile on her face.

Chandra nearly choked on a gleeful gasp, bringing a hand to her chest. Safira had never addressed her as such. She had been waiting to be acknowledged as her mother from the moment she was granted her daughter back. Chandra sat down beside her and took her hand, smiling tearfully. Safira responded by squeezing her hand, all sense of pride gone.

"You know," Safira began, casting her eyes down to her lap, "That night, I was so sure I was going to die. And when I was laying there, feeling the life being drained out of me, I had… an epiphany, so to speak."

"Oh?" Chandra rubbed her hand comfortingly.

"Yes," Safira nodded, looking up into her mother's face, "It made me realize that I was never as brave as I thought I was. I've been a coward."

"What are you saying, dear?" Chandra frowned.

As Chandra looked into Safira's eyes, she could see an unfamiliar - yet lovely - warmth within those usually void eyes. It took years off of the former soldier, enhancing her youth.

"I've been hiding behind a sword so I didn't have to face my feelings," Safira clarified, "Every tear I held back, every word I refused to speak and every emotion I shut out… I've been too afraid to face the things that made me feel vulnerable. It took nearly dying to realize how stupidly stubborn I was."

"My sweet Safira," Chandra caressed Safira's cheek, "It's not your fault. You were traumatized; anyone would shut down after going through what you went through."

"Be that as it may," Safira cleared her throat to straighten her wavy voice, "I could have died and never have called you 'mother'. I could have died before… I realized many other feelings I have for the people in my life."

Safira looked down at the figurine in her hand, her eyes the softest shade of blue as she gazed at it tenderly. Chandra glanced down at it as well before bringing her eyes back up with a knowing smile. Chandra gently took the wooden figurine from Safira's hands, bringing the other girl's eyes up to her curiously.

"You're a lot like your father, you know," Chandra smiled as she studied the figurine, "He wasn't one for really expressing how he felt. None of the De Chataupers are. I remember being so surprised when he had asked me to marry him because he was so... _dry_. There wasn't a romantic bone in his body."

Safira smiled at the story but Chandra wasn't finished yet.

"I vented to my future mother-in-law and she told me that the De Chataupers aren't the best at expressing their love... But when they love, it's only once and it's the hardest anyone could ever possibly love."

Chandra placed the figurine back in her daughter's hand, holding her hand as the figurine was sandwiched between them. Safira looked at her mother uncertainly.

"Let's not wait for another near death experience before you tell the boy how you feel," Chandra clarified with a kind smile.

"You… don't mind?" Safira looked at her almost as if she expected her mother to blow up out of nowhere.

"Why would I?" Chandra raised her eyebrows, "He's kind, he's patient, he's surprisingly charming... And he loves my daughter. Quite frankly, dear, anyone who can put up with your temper is a saint in my eyes."

Safira's laughter had been the first thing Judge Leopold heard when he entered the room. Drawing the attention of the women, he was struck with the beauty of identical smiles.

"Good afternoon, ladies," He smiled kindly towards Safira, "It's good to see you are up and about, Lady Safira."

"Thank you, your honor," Safira stood up in his presence.

"My lady," Leopold turned towards Chandra, "May I have a moment alone with your daughter?"

"Of course," She stood and brought her hand to Safira's cheek, leaning forward to kiss her face lovingly before she departed.

Being left alone with the judge, she noted how he examined her wounds. He was now looking at her with what looked like guilt after seeing for himself the severity of her injuries.

"I want to assure you that His Majesty has been informed of you and the bravery of your friends that brought this heathen to justice. We can't thank you enough for what you did."

"I was just doing my job, your honor," She spoke humbly.

As Leopold smiled at her, she could see the difference in his eyes; they were lighter as they suddenly sparkled with life. It seemed the burden he had been holding for over half of his life had suddenly left him.

"You risked your life to help an old man put an end to a long nightmare," He continued with gratitude, "The weight that has been in my heart for fifteen years has been put to rest and I owe it all to you."

"I couldn't have done any of it without help," She spoke highly of her loved ones.

"Yes," He acknowledged with a soft chuckle, "It seems that when you four are together, no criminal in France stands a chance."

Safira felt a prideful warmth in her heart at the judge's words. With Phoebus' intelligence and passion, Safira's courage and skills, Esmeralda's spunk and street-smarts and Quasimodo's kindness and wisdom, they were an unstoppable force that surpassed that of the entire French Army. In addition to that, they had been gifted with Madellaine's pure-hearted morality which had not only aided them in their goal but had saved Safira in the end.

"Well, councilwoman," Leopold clasped his hands together, "You are welcome to stay here until you are healed before you go back to your duty."

Safira parted her lips, hesitating for a moment to speak.

"With all due respect, your honor, I must resign from my position."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows candidly.

"I don't belong in a building making decisions for soldiers," She clarified, "I belong out there, defending my country with them."

The judge's face was deeply pensive. He studied Safira's strong minded face; the fire in her sapphire eyes, the proud stance of her body despite her injuries, the unwavering determination. Everyone had thought The Black Soldier died when Safira resurfaced but Sacha continued to live and he was standing before Leopold's very eyes. He finally let a smile slowly spread on his wrinkled face.

"I think a position for Co-Captain has reopened."

Safira's smile lit up the room.

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Quasimodo rung the bells for the evening mass, yanking effortlessly on the ropes as they summoned the church goers of Paris. After five tugs, he climbed down the ropes expertly until he landed on the floor of the bell tower. The voice of the woman he had been thinking about nonstop rang through the bell tower just as the roar of the bells began to die down to a low hum.

"Quasimodo?"

He looked towards the bell tower steps and nearly took a step backwards in his surprise. He eyed her almost skeptically as if he were afraid she was a mirage.

"Safira?"

He took a couple of hesitant steps towards her before running the rest of the way. He wanted to gather her in his arms but one look at her battered form and he stopped himself. He took her small hand in both of his instead. As he looked up at her, he couldn't ignore the painful-looking contusions that marred her face. His horror must have shown because Safira was immediately brushing off her appearance.

"It looks worse than it is," She smirked at him lightly.

"Should you be up and about so soon?" He frowned as he rubbed her hand concernedly.

"I've been through worse," She managed to speak despite the fluttering in her stomach at the feel of his hand on hers, "Do you mind if we talk outside? I've been cooped up at the palace all day."

"S-Sure!" He nodded before he began to guide her towards the balcony as if she was unable to walk on her own.

Normally, Safira would have cynically pointed out how she was able to walk on her own. But knowing that this man had been the one to pull her would-be murderer off of her, she suddenly found it difficult to retort with sarcasm. In fact, her throat felt dry as his hand continued to rub hers gently. When they walked out to the balcony, Safira let go of his hand to climb up and sit on the ledge. Quasimodo reached for her waist and helped her up, bringing a shyness to the usually confident woman as she looked at him from where she sat.

"How are you feeling?" He asked her.

"Better than Dimitri, that's for sure," She chuckled lowly, "From what I hear, you really did a number on him."

"No more than he deserved," He spoke with surprising darkness, his brow furrowing in such an uncharacteristically morbid manner for him.

"Bad enough to get you banned from the Palace of Justice," She raised an eyebrow, a smile building on her lips.

He caught her smile and slowly his darkened expression softened into that of solemnness. He leaned against the balcony, his auburn hair swaying as a soft breeze picked up in the evening sky. He looked out onto the city with such a saddened look, it brought Safira's hand to his arm.

He glanced down at her hand before placing his on top of hers, releasing a deep exhale.

"I thought we might lose you," He spoke quietly, squeezing her hand in his, "When I saw him over you like that… I lost it."

Quasimodo couldn't even remember what he had done. All he remembered was Dimitri's form over Safira's before he blacked out. After that, the only memory had had was being pulled away from the battered man, his throbbing knuckles covered in both of their blood. Phoebus had informed him afterwards of what had occurred and the extent of Dimitri's damages. He had survived but just barely. There was no doubt in Quasimodo's mind that if he had not been stopped, Dimitri wouldn't have been so lucky.

"I never want to see you like that again," He turned to her, his face serious.

"I never want to be like that again," She smirked gently as she ran her hand up and down his arm boldly, "But in a way, I'm glad it happened."

"What?" He blinked, glowering at her perplexedly, "Why would you say that?"

"Because it made me take a long, hard look at my life," She continued to rub his arm as she spoke.

Quasimodo almost wished she would stop doing that as it distracted him greatly. His skin broke into gooseflesh at the silky feel of her skin against his.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know," She shrugged, her eyes now focused on his arm, "The things one says or does. Or doesn't say or do."

His eyes scanned her face distractedly, admiring the display of long lashes as she looked downward. He focused his attention back to their conversation when she looked up at him suddenly.

"You know, my mother told me that the De Chataupers are stubborn when it comes to our feelings."

"Oh, I believe that," He smiled at her, relishing in the dimples that delved into her cheeks as a stunning smile graced her lush lips.

"But she also said that when we love, we love only once and we love very hard."

Safira trailed her hand up his arm intimately before coming to rest on his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment as he turned his face into her palm, pressing his lips to it tenderly. Her eyes watched him lovingly, her voice reflecting what she was feeling at the moment.

"When I thought I was going to die, the first thing I thought of was wishing I had been brave enough to do the things I had been too prideful to do… Like tell you that I am deeply in love with you."

Quasimodo felt his breath catch in his throat, his stomach fluttering something fierce. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. He swore he had never seen her eyes this beautifully blue since he had known her. The way he looked at her seemed to waver Safira's confidence for a moment, her eyes drifting back to her lap in such a shy manner as she pulled her hand away. He had never seen this side of her before... and he loved it.

"I want to confess that now," She was unable to look at him as she spoke, "And I want to confess it over and over for the rest of my life if… you will have me?"

Before her sentence was even finished, Quasimodo had already begun scooping her from the balcony ledge and into his arms. He cradled her gently before boldly placing his lips against hers in a deep kiss. Safira's eyes widened for only a moment before they closed in contentment. She placed her hand on his cheek, sliding it up to his hair, gripping it hard as she returned his kiss profoundly.

The dark bell tower never looked as bright as it did that night as Heaven's light shined down upon them.

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 **Author's Note:**

The long-awaited confession!

What happens after this?

Stay tuned for the next update and find out.

~ Laruto


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it."

 _Proverbs 22:6_

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 _One Year Later_

"Careful now, careful," Quasimodo spoke gently as he helped Safira down the stairs.

He took her hand in his, his other hand resting on the small of her back. She waddled down the steps of the cathedral, her free hand resting on her protruding belly.

"Will you relax?" She scolded her husband gently, "I'm pregnant, not crippled."

"Are you sure you want to go to the Festival?" He frowned, "Maybe we should go back up to the bell tower so you can rest."

"No!" She exclaimed firmly, "I've been 'resting' enough. By the time I go back to work, my legs will be too weak to even hop on my horse."

Quasimodo frowned at the reminder of her plans to return to her duties as the Captain of the Guard's First Lieutenant. Though he and Safira had been happily married for nearly a year now, there was only one subject that seemed to result in an argument and that was the subject of her job. Whereas Quasimodo wished she would stay home to raise their child, she insisted she could do it without giving up her career.

"That might not be a bad idea-"

"We're not discussing this right now," She cut him off resolutely as they made it down the square.

Sooner or later, he wanted to discuss it rather than have the subject shut down each time he tried to speak of it. But he decided that, for now, they should enjoy the festivities rather than begin an argument that would only upset his very pregnant wife. As they walked down the square hand-in-hand, they immediately caught sight of the group of people they were meeting up with.

Safira picked up her pace to rush over to Chandra, Phoebus and Esmeralda who was holding her one-year-old son against her hip. Chandra had been the first to notice Safira and Quasimodo heading their way, her face brightening at the sight of them.

"Speaking of the devils, here they come!" Chandra greeted her daughter with a kiss.

"Sorry we're late," Quasimodo apologized as Safira immediately reached for her blonde-haired, green-eyed nephew, "I tried to convince her to rest but you know your daughter, Lady Chandra."

Chandra laughed knowingly as Safira cooed at her nephew.

"Aunt Safira didn't want to miss Zephyr's first festival," She kissed his cheeks repeatedly, bringing bell-like laughter from the beautiful boy, "Where's Madellaine?"

When the restraining order had been dropped – and Chandra was able to forgive her – she had actually become a very good friend of the family's. She found success in performing, much like Esmeralda had. In her path of the performing arts, she had met and married a handsome gypsy man named Pierre who had been a part of her act. She had also become Safira's closest confidant when the hormonal woman would prove too much for Quasimodo.

"She's preparing for her performance," Esmeralda informed her.

"I'm glad we didn't miss it," Safira sighed in relief before she turned excitedly towards Clopin's voice, "Come on, Zephyr, let's go watch the puppet show!"

She walked away from them as she departed towards the gypsy man's show, child in her arms.

"I better join them!" Chandra insisted as she darted after them, the trio of friends watching them in amusement.

"Pregnancy seems to really suit Safira," Esmeralda grinned warmly, watching as Zephyr laughed joyously at the puppet show, Safira's own smile reflecting his delight.

"She has her moments," Quasimodo laughed as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Is she still having those emotional breakdowns?" Phoebus questioned lowly as if he were afraid she would hear, "I haven't forgotten the cookie incident."

Quasimodo chortled loudly in amusement as he recalled. They had all been having dinner at Chandra's home when Phoebus decided to very messily eat some cookies and dust off the crumbs from his hand and onto the floor. Safira had gone from content to inconsolable within seconds.

"To be fair, she had just cleaned the floor," Esmeralda pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

"She was hysterical!" Phoebus exclaimed, "She went from crying to laughing to attacking me! I don't know how you handle it every day, Quasi."

"I do whatever she tells me to do," He chuckled kindly, "It keeps her happy."

"Aw," Esmeralda brought a hand to her chest at the romance of Quasimodo's statement before she slapped Phoebus' chest with the back of her hand, "See?"

Phoebus glowered at Quasimodo who shrugged innocently in response.

"But to answer your question…," Quasimodo changed the subject to bring the heat off of Phoebus, "She's been doing very well. She's just stubborn about getting her rest."

"Yeah, about that," Phoebus rubbed his chin pensively, "The judge mentioned his concern in having her return to work so soon."

"I can't say I'm too happy about it either," Quasimodo admitted without thinking, "But every time I try to bring it up, she doesn't seem to want to hear it."

"Tell me about it," Phoebus rubbed his neck with a heavy sigh, "We tried trying to talk her out of it too."

"She's afraid she'll be replaced with someone else if she stays away for too long," Esmeralda thought out loud.

"Shh, here she comes!" Quasimodo hushed them as Safira and Chandra made their way back, Safira holding onto Zephyr with obvious difficulty as her new weight proved to be hard on her usually strong back.

"Here, darling," Chandra grabbed the child from her, "I'm taking this young man to get his face painted."

"You go on," Safira exhaled tiredly as Quasimodo took her hand, "I'll be right there."

As Chandra walked with Zephyr towards the face-painting gypsy, Quasimodo was now frowning worriedly at Safira. Phoebus and Esmeralda noticed how easily she was tiring and exchanged knowing glances; it seemed as if the stubborn woman was the only one who couldn't see that her military career would require a long hiatus.

"Will you fetch me some water, love?" Safira forced a light smile towards Quasimodo despite her pain.

"Yes, of course!" He nearly sprang out of sight in search of water.

"Are you sure you're well enough to be here?" Phoebus asked despite his instincts not to, "That baby is ready to pop any minute now."

"Nonsense," She scoffed, waving off her tiredness, "A little walking might help him – or her – come faster. I'm just anxious for this part to be over."

The pregnancy had both positive and negative effects on Safira. When she had found out she was with child, she had been terrified. She was so terrified that she hadn't told anyone until she was beginning to show – which was faster than the average woman in Safira's case. Her mother and Esmeralda had addressed their suspicions with care to which Safira had responded by breaking down into hysterics.

When she gave Quasimodo the news, the man had the opposite effect. This was the greatest confession Safira had for him, the second being when she professed her love for him. He had consoled the emotional woman who feared she would be an inadequate mother. As the months went by, Safira was beginning to slowly feel the same excitement her husband did, his anticipation rubbing off on her.

Her body was what suffered the most; it was difficult to walk during the last two months and her back felt strained very easily. Her mood changed drastically from one minute to the next but she was generally happy. Everyone who came across her could see the heavenly glow she suddenly had about her. Even so, it still didn't stop certain groups of people from making rude remarks, such as the two women who were unknowingly gossiping about the unusual husband and wife merely an arm's length away from the trio.

"It's baffling how someone like that bell ringer could have a wife as lovely as Lady Safira."

It had been too much to ask for that Safira hadn't heard them. Esmeralda and Phoebus froze as they watched Safira's face darken instantly. The blue-eyed girl turned to look at the chattering women who were staring at Quasimodo as he requested water from one of the many vendors present.

"Safira, don't listen to them," Esmeralda tried to distract her but Safira's eyes focused on the women and their vicious conversation.

"He's hideous," the second gossiper agreed, "I can only imagine what their children will look like…"

That had been enough for Safira. She began to walk towards them casually, Phoebus reached over to grab her arm with the intention of snatching her back but she shoved his arm away with surprising strength. Both he and Esmeralda watched helplessly as Safira waddled towards them.

"I wonder what she saw in him," The first gossiper continued as Safira stood behind them, hands on her hips.

"Well," Safira cleared her throat loudly, bringing the alarmed women's attention to her.

Safira's eyebrow raised, her tone mockingly innocent.

"Maybe you should take a peek into his hosiery," She spoke loudly, bringing several eyes in their direction, "That should clear a few things up."

The women stared at her, appalled and red-faced. They hastily excused themselves, muttering in outrage at the unsophisticated girl's words. The people who had been within hearing distance continued to stare at Safira, hushed whispers already spreading news of the confrontation.

"Christ, Safira!" Phoebus hissed lowly as he approached her, equally horrified.

Esmeralda's lips were rolled into her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. She watched her husband's face redden at the crude words that came from his younger sister's lips.

"What?" Safira blinked at him with feigned innocence, "They were curious to know what I could possibly see in my husband, they have the right to know what an amazing lover he is-"

"Enough!" Phoebus brought his hands to his ears, shutting his eyes tightly as a child would.

In that moment, Quasimodo returned with water in hand. He looked at them, none the wiser of the earlier confrontation.

"Hey, are you guy's hungry?" He questioned them anxiously, "Because I'm ravished!"

"My God!" Phoebus frowned at him angrily, throwing his hands up in the air, "You're like an animal!"

Quasimodo watched in utter bewilderment as Phoebus stormed off to join Chandra and Zephyr. He looked back at Safira and Esmeralda with genuine confusion. Esmeralda suddenly seemed unable to meet his eyes, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"What did I say?" He rubbed his head as Safira took the water from his hands.

"Nothing, love," She ran a hand through his hair with a wide grin, "Absolutely nothing."

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Safira cried out shakily as she gripped the bed sheets above her head, her body glistening with sweat. She licked her lips as she reached one hand down to rest on Quasimodo's head which was buried in between her legs. She panted heavily, her back arching as she felt her body shuddering at the feel of her husband's skillful tongue.

"A-Ah!" She cried out, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he slid his strong hands up to cup her breasts, stimulating her rosy nipples.

Relishing in the sweet sounds of his wife's pleasure, he continued until she released a final cry of blissful satisfaction. Her body relaxed as she fell into post-orgasmic exhaustion, her breathing coming out in slow, heavy pants. She bit her lower lip as she gazed sleepily down at him, watching as he slid up to rest his cheek against her round belly.

"Are you still angry with me?" He questioned.

Her response was a tired laugh as she ran a hand through his auburn hair.

When they had returned from the festival, the subject of her career came up despite Quasimodo's attempt not to touch the subject. Their discussion had become heated and before they knew it, it was a full blown argument that had upset Safira so much that Quasimodo feared she would induce her own labor. She had begun to grab random objects and flung them at him furiously.

That was when he had grabbed her hand, dragged her into their bedroom despite her protests and proceeded to remind her of the amazing lovemaking skills she had announced he had in the square that afternoon.

"Just a little," She admitted softly.

He brought a hand to her belly, kissing it lovingly before he looked up at her. She caressed his cheek, a silent declaration of love behind her blue eyes.

"Are you nervous?" He asked suddenly as he rubbed her stomach.

"About what? The baby?" She thought for a moment, "Not really... Are you?"

He didn't answer right away. She began to frown until he finally nodded his head quietly.

"Why?" She continued to run her fingers through his hair soothingly.

"I don't know," He suddenly slid away from her, moving to sit on the edge of their bed with a heavy sigh, "I just hope it doesn't, you know… get anything from me."

She grimaced darkly, visions of the two gossiping women from the festival flashing in her mind. Had he heard what they said? She sat up behind him, slinging an arm around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his back.

"What if," Quasimodo continued hesitantly, "What if it's… deformed-?"

"Stop it," She interrupted him immediately, "We've discussed this: no matter what happens, this child is ours and we will love it with all our hearts."

"Yes but will anyone else?"

Safira closed her eyes as she kissed his back. Her heart went out to him. He was afraid of bringing a child into the world that would be subjected to ridicule, prejudice and hatred. Everything that had happened to him, he wanted to make sure their child avoided. In Quasimodo's eyes, Safira falling in love with him was nothing short of a miracle. If his son – or daughter – was born with his deformities, what are the chances they would find what he had?

"Our child will be loved by you, me and our family," She insisted, "That is all we could ever want or need for it. Besides… with two Captains in the family, only an idiot would do anything to harm it."

Quasimodo felt a sad smile tug at his lips at her words. Indeed, this child would be fiercely loved and protected but he feared there was only so much that could be done on their part. He had been locked away for twenty years and yet he still found a way to get himself humiliated and ridiculed by the entire city at one point. A parent could do everything in their power to protect their child but short of keeping them away from the world, it was out of their control.

"I just want us…," He began hesitantly, "To be there for it. Always. No distractions, no other focuses."

He began to regret his words when he felt her suddenly tense up behind him. He was prepared for yet another argument when Safira began to slide from behind him. He was surprised when all she did was sit beside him, sheets wrapped around her form. He looked at her almost fearfully but was met with a genuinely concerned expression.

"Is that why you don't want me to go back to work? Because you think I won't be able to be there for it?"

"What if something happens when you're not around?" He asked quietly, "What if I can't protect it the way you can?"

She leaned forward, bringing her hand to his head as she rested her chin on his un-hunched shoulder. She wasn't sure if he was referring to her fearsome reputation or her sword fighting skills but neither of those skills were necessary in defending a loved one.

"You're the same man who protected me on more than one occasion," She reminded him tenderly, "You weren't a soldier then and you needn't be now or ever to protect either of us."

He turned to look at her, visibly torn. The fear in his eyes brought an overwhelmingly sense of guilt to Safira. She took a moment to truly think about what he was feeling. Like a brick wall falling over on her, she suddenly realized how selfish she was being. She had been choosing her career over her new duties as a wife and mother. She was holding onto a part of her past and wasn't focusing on the future they had chosen to build together.

When Safira married Quasimodo, she had mistakenly assumed that life would remain the same. She had been so used to leading followers and remaining in control of others. It hadn't dawned on her that a marriage didn't work that way. Quasimodo wasn't her follower, he was her equal; neither held more authority over the other. If life were a battle, they would be combat partners.

How could she have been so blind to realize that? She blamed it on the famous De Chataupers stubbornness.

"I won't go back to work," She said suddenly.

His eyes widened as he looked at her in shock.

"W-What?"

"I'll stay here," She leaned her cheek against his arm, smiling softly, "With both of you."

"But… But you love being a soldier," His eyes flickered in surprise, unsure of what to make of her sudden change of heart.

She looked up now, bringing her hands to his face and pulling him into a deep kiss. He returned her kiss tenderly, bringing his arms around her naked form. When their kiss ended, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered softly.

"I love you even more."

He caressed her cheek, a smile spreading on his face. They basked in the peaceful moment only briefly before Safira began to frown. Her body tensed as she pulled away from him to reach onto her lower back. She grunted lowly, her eyes squinting as a powerful surge of pain overcame her. Quasimodo was ready to question what was wrong until the sound of water splashing onto the floor brought their attention downwards to the now soaked bed and floor.

Safira gasped in alarm, "It's… It's time!"

"T-Time?" He looked up at her with wide, alarmed eyes.

"It's… The baby is coming," She panted heavily, wincing in pain, "Hurry, get my mother!"

"R-Right!" He stood up and began to run out the door.

"Quasimodo!" Safira called out for him.

He ran back, visibly shaken, "Y-Yes?"

"Put some clothes on first?"

"O-Oh, right…"

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Safira's agonized cries echoed through the bell tower. Phoebus, Quasimodo and Pierre stood just outside of the bell tower and on the balcony but her screams could still be heard from there. Pierre watched amusedly as Phoebus leaned over the balcony tensely and Quasimodo paced back and forth, cracking his knuckles nervously.

"Relax, will you?" Pierre offered a comforting grin towards Quasimodo, "She's going to be fine."

"Fine?" Phoebus turned towards him angrily before pointing accusingly at Quasimodo, "You did this to her!"

"M-Me?" Quasimodo blinked in alarm.

"Yes, you! Who else?!"

"I didn't do anything to her that you haven't done to Esmeralda," Quasimodo frowned at him.

"Oh, God!" Phoebus brought his hands to his face, "You sick bastard!"

Quasimodo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as Phoebus rubbed his eyes to rid the images from his head. Pierre was chuckling softly to himself at the interaction.

When he had married Madellaine, he had already been familiar with Safira as they had grown up in the Court of Miracles together as children but were never more than acquaintances. When he also heard that she was a close friend of The Black Soldier's, he had been hesitant to approach the blonde-haired beauty. Anyone who knew Safira knew of her explosive temper and the last thing he wanted to do was have his manhood sliced off if he even accidentally brought one drop of tear from Madellaine's oceanic eyes.

As the time went on, he had come to find that the stories of Safira came mostly from her war days. She was almost nothing like the person she was rumored to be; she was quiet initially – almost standoffish – but opened up warmly to Pierre quite quickly. She smiled often, especially around her husband. She was fiercely protective of Madellaine, yes, but not intrusively so. Pierre considered himself lucky to be a part of this very loving albeit interestingly dysfunctional family.

"Calm down, both of you," Pierre suggested, "Lady Chandra has trained with Drina to be the best midwife for Safira. Plus, Esme and Maddie are helping her out; she's in good hands."

There was no doubt about that in their minds. It was just the difficulty of having to hear someone they loved in so much pain. While Phoebus' focus was his sister's physical pain, Quasimodo anxiously awaited the arrival of his soon-to-be child, fearing the worst.

"Do you have a name picked out already, Quasi?" Pierrer attempted to distract the obviously anxious man.

"N-No," He shook his head, "I guess we'll decide once we see it."

"That's what we did with Zephyr," Phoebus pointed out.

"Yeah, that turned out well," Pierre mumbled under his breath, earning a scowl from Phoebus.

No further was discussed among the men. It wasn't long before Madellaine descended down the bell tower steps, bringing their restless glances towards her. Quasimodo rushed to her, taking her hands in his.

"How is she?" He questioned anxiously.

One look at the woman's somber face and Quasimodo felt his blood turn ice-cold. Madellaine found it difficult to even look at Quasimodo, bringing a sense of dread to him. She shook her head as she struggled to speak, her voice threatening tears.

"Quasimodo… I'm… so sorry…"

He began to shake his head slowly. Waiting no further, he hurried past her and up the bell tower, leaving Madellaine to give deliver the upsetting news to Phoebus and Pierre. Quasimodo nearly tripped in his rush to get up to the bell tower, running up the steps furiously. He froze at the top step, looking upon Chandra who was sitting outside of their bedroom, head in her hands. Quasimodo slowly walked over to her, fearing the absolute worst.

"Lady Chandra…" Quasimodo placed a hand on her back hesitantly, "Is she…?"

Chandra looked up, rubbing the tears off of her cheeks to look up at him. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to speak with a straight face. No words came out. Her expression scrunched as she began to cry quietly, closing her eyes as she placed a hand over her mouth. Her crestfallen eyes said it all.

"Oh no," Quasimodo shuddered as he walked over to his bedroom, standing in the doorway nearly shaking.

Safira lay in bed with her eyes closed. The sight of her chest rising nearly brought Quasimodo to his knees in relief when he concluded she was just sleeping. His eyes then drifted to Esmeralda who stood in the corner of the silent room with the bundle in her arms. He took a few steps inside, his presence bringing her sorrowful eyes to him. He looked down at the bundle in her arms with fearful questioning; was it deformed? Was it inhuman like him?

"I'm sorry, Quasimodo," Came the desolate apology from the green-eyed gypsy.

He looked up at her frighteningly before holding his trembling hands out. Esmeralda hesitated but eventually relented, sliding the unmoving bundle into his arms; the blanket hiding the child's form. Esmeralda placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it with sad affection as she left the room, leaving the father to grieve in private.

He waited until the door closed behind him before he brought a shaky hand to the blanket that covered the child. Slowly peeling the blanket from its face, he gasped softly at the sight of the girl.

He saw no deformities nor imperfections. A few wisps of auburn curls framed her round, smooth face. Her eyes were closed, graced with long, thin eyelashes, a button-nose resting above heart-shaped lips. Her face looked as if it had been carved carefully by God Himself before being gifted to them.

When his relief of not having passed down his physical deformities faded, he began to notice other things about her. Such as her pale, almost gray skin. Her lips were a faint blue and her tiny chest remained still. It was then he realized he had heard no infant cries since he walked up to the bell tower. The women weren't apologizing for the hideousness of his child; they were apologizing for the lifelessness of her.

Tears began to blur his vision as he caressed the infant's face as if he were afraid he would break her. He brought her against his chest, closing his eyes as he released soft cries against her. He rubbed her small form, providing her body with warmth.

His tears poured endlessly as he ran his hand up and down the child soothingly as one would rub a friend's back in comfort. In that moment, Quasimodo began to wonder what he and Safira had done in their lives that was so sinful that they deserved to suffer like this. He placed soft kisses over the child's fragile head, his eyes shut tightly in his pain. He feared the moment Safira would awaken, wanting to see the child they had been so eager to meet only to find out they had lost her.

"God, please…" Quasimodo cried bitterly against the bundle.

As his tears touched his daughter's soft skin, it was as if God had heard his desolate pleads.

He froze when he felt a sudden movement against his chest. A burst of high-pitched cries sprung from the girl as she took in her first gasp of air. He brought her away from his chest and stared down at her in disbelief; color was very slowly coming to her face, she was crying quite loudly as her tiny lungs desperately sought air.

The darkness that spread through the bell tower was gone in a flash. Quasimodo never thought he would be so happy to hear the sound of a child's cries. The screams that emitted from the infant awakened her sleeping mother who was hazily looking around in search of her.

"Where is it?" Safira's weak voice brought his attention to her.

Quasimodo wiped his eyes with his arm as he turned towards his tired wife.

"H-Here she is."

Quasimodo walked over to Safira, helping her sit up as he cradled the baby in his other arm. Safira reached out for her instantly, unable to hold back her emotions. With the physical, emotional and spiritual draining of her labor, to finally be gifted with the end result of this perfect creature was too overwhelming. Safira laughed through her tears as she held the crying child against her.

"She's so perfect," Safira breathed out as she nuzzled her face against her hair.

"Just like her mother," Quasimodo held Safira against him, both admiring the miracle of their child.

As they basked in what they both considered the greatest days of their lives, Quasimodo made a silent promise to himself to never inform Safira of what they almost lost.

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Milagros De Chataupers was the talk of the city since the day of her birth even nearly a month after the events.

When Safira and Quasimodo walked around town with their daughter, the people of Paris – French and gypsies alike – would be in awe of the lovely girl they never envisioned could be spawned from the pair. Under no circumstances could anyone imagine that a man like Quasimodo could reproduce something so beautiful. He certainly never thought he could create something as lovely as she. They couldn't go anywhere around town without being stopped at least once. Quasimodo nearly swelled with pride as people doted on his daughter.

"Oh, she's so lovely!"

"What beautiful red hair!"

"She has her father's colored eyes!"

"Look at the little angel!"

It seemed as Milagros' arrival also brought ease from the wary people who still found Quasimodo's appearance uncomfortable. After seeing how loving the new father was towards Milagros, it was concluded that someone who was so gentle couldn't possibly mean any harm.

Even now, as he tucked their daughter in her crib, Safira watched her husband with great tenderness from their bed as he sung Milagros to sleep. Safira had come to greatly enjoy their nightly routine. The sweet sound of Quasimodo's voice entranced Safira as it lulled their daughter to sleep.

When the child had fallen fast asleep, he walked to join Safira in bed, visibly tired. Safira chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed. She slid herself up against him, her thighs hugging his hips as she draped her arms over him. Quasimodo sighed with a smile as he turned his head towards her, their lips meeting for the softest of kisses.

Safira smiled contently through their kiss, bringing Quasimodo to look back at her with amused eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," She rested her cheek against his arm, holding it tightly, "Can't a woman smile at her husband because she loves him so?"

"Hm," He raised an eyebrow down at her jokingly.

She looked up at him, tightening her hold on his arm as she pressed herself against him further.

"Thank you," She spoke with a sudden seriousness.

"For what?" Quasimodo questioned, bringing a hand to caress her cheek.

"Everything."

Safira didn't need to go into further detail. Quasimodo had, almost single-handedly, given her back the heart she thought she lost over ten years ago. He had warmed her cold soul with his friendship, softened it with his love and brought it fully to life when he became her husband and father of her child and future children to come.

Quasimodo slid his arms around her and pulled her up against his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his in a profound kiss, her legs on either side of his waist. As he ran his hands up her back, Safira shuddered at the constant reminder of the strength behind those hands; the very same hands that could crush her bones in one swift moment yet touched her so carefully and tenderly.

"I love you," He whispered against her lips.

"Oh, do you?" She leaned back with a playful smirk, "For how long?"

"An entire lifetime," He promised her, smiling gently.

"Your wife is a lot more selfish than that," She traced circles around his heart, "One lifetime isn't enough for me. I think I need two lifetimes."

"How about forever instead?" He took her hand and pressed it against his heart, "Is that enough?"

"It will have to do."

Quasimodo's laughter rang like the very bells of the cathedral through Safira's heart.

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 **Author's Note:**

This isn't the end _quite_ yet.

An epilogue will be posted soon.

~ Laruto


	26. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

" _Watch, stand fast in the faith, be brave, be strong. Let all that you do be done with love."_

1 Corinthians 16:13-14

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"Mila!"

Safira rode her horse through the city with a deep frown on her face. She had lost sight of her rambunctious daughter and was slowly beginning to panic. It seemed that she couldn't take her eyes off of her for a moment before she drifted off, her attention span being that of a fly.

Safira managed to relax when she spotted the redhead standing amongst the other children before Clopin's famous street puppet shows. Safira sighed in relief as she hopped off her horse and began to walk towards the ten year old with the intention of scolding her. But the sound of Clopin's storytelling brought Safira's attention to the small stage.

"... As the cathedral poured fire, the evil Judge Frollo was defeated by The Green Eyed Gypsy, The Hunchbacked Bell Ringer and the legendary Black and Gold Soldiers!"

The children erupted into applause and cheers as well as a few adults who watched. Safira smirked at the bright smile that erupted on her daughter's face, her frustration forgotten. She walked to her and placed her hand on her shoulder, bringing the turquoise-eyed girl's glance upwards.

"Mila, what did I tell you about running off?" Safira questioned her patiently.

"I'm sorry, mother," She stated, her smile unwavering, "I just love that story."

Safira brushed a few locks of curls away from her face with an affectionate smile. Milagros had grown up used to her parents addressed as "The Bell Ringer" and "The Black Soldier." Though Safira had placed her military career behind her to raise her daughter, her past would never leave her behind. Safira feared for when Milagros would grow and become more conscious of her mother's detailed past. Safira had once been proud of her fierce reputation but now with her children in the world, it was something she was suddenly not so proud of.

"Just don't run off like that again," Safira sighed as she took her hand, "Come. Your siblings are probably driving your father crazy."

Milagros gripped her mother's hand obediently. Safira hopped onto her horse before she pulled her daughter up to sit behind her. Milagros wrapped her arms tightly around Safira's waist as she rode the family horse towards the cathedral where Quasimodo was currently wrestling with mischievous triplets.

When Safira had announced her second pregnancy during Milagros' fifth birthday celebration, she and Quasimodo decided to move from the bell tower and into their own home. It had been extremely difficult for the both of them, more so for Quasimodo who had never known any other home, but the bell tower had no room for their growing family.

Quasimodo was still the city's bell ringer and had begun to earn his pay for his service just after Milagros' birth. His works of art were also a significant source of their income and with Milagros having inherited her father's artistic abilities, she assisted him regularly and eagerly.

When they had been surprised by the arrival of not one but three infants, it was mentally easier to move into their new home. Milagros had taken to their new home and to be being an older sister very well. With each year that went by, she proved to have her father's gentle nature and kind demeanor; graced with his coloring and her mother's features, she was as lovely on the outside as she was on the inside. The triplets, on the other hand, were a lot more to handle than their sister.

Quasimodo and Safira had been blessed with three very active and mischievous children. They possessed their mother's strong spirit and stubborn attitude, much to Safira's dismay. And much to Phoebus' amusement, they all inherited his – and their father's – golden hair and earthy-brown eyes.

Safira and Milagros arrived just in time to hear the commotion in the bell tower.

"Marcel, put your shoes on!" Quasimodo called out from above the bell tower, "Marie, please get down from there."

"Maurice is hiding my shoes!" The blonde whined frustratingly, his eyes like pits of russet fire as his lightly freckled face began to redden angrily.

"Maurice…" Quasimodo raised an eyebrow towards the mischievous boy warningly as he hopped down from the wooden beams.

"Alright, alright…" Maurice grumbled as he rushed off to find his brother's shoes.

Safira chuckled as Milagros rushed over to bring her sister down from one of the lower wooden beams.

"I figured they would be driving you crazy."

"Mommy!" The three cried out in unison and darted to their mother's arms as she knelt down to hug them.

"I was doing fine," Quasimodo smirked as he approached her.

She stood up with Marie and Marcel hanging off of each hip, greeting her husband with a kiss.

"Are you ready, love?" She questioned him as she carried the two youngest of their children, "Zephyr's birthday dinner is starting soon."

"Yes," Quasimodo nodded as Maurice climbed up his father's back, his legs dangling off either side of his neck as he gripped his auburn hair, "Let's go before they lose their minds."

Quasimodo reached for his eldest daughter's hand, holding it as they made their way out of the bell tower and to Chandra's home.

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The arrival of Safira, Quasimodo and their four children brought a cheerful smile out of Zephyr's face as he rushed to eagerly greet his cousins. Quasimodo and Safira were relieved of their energetic children as they all rushed outside to play, leaving them to greet the family.

Chandra, Phoebus, Esmeralda, Madellaine and Pierre greeted each other warmly; kisses and handshakes exchanged.

"I swear Mila grows more beautiful every day," Esmeralda smiled as she greeted Safira with a kiss to her cheek.

"Zephyr is becoming quite the handsome young man as well," Safira returned with a grin.

"Well, of course," Phoebus slung his arm over his sister's shoulder, "He looks like his father!"

The rolling of Safira's eyes brought a deep chuckle from the blonde-haired soldier. They gathered around the living area where pleasant conversation ensued. Stories were shared of the children as well as blissful recollections of the past.

"Poor Judge Leopold was the target of the triplet's pranks yesterday," Safira recalled, shaking her head embarrassedly.

"He was a very good sport about it," Quasimodo chuckled as he placed his hand on Safira's knee, squeezing it lovingly.

Indeed Leopold was very patient and kind towards the triplets. He openly adored Phoebus and Safira's children as he had lost his only child long ago. He held a soft spot for Mila whose politeness and maturity shone brightly. He was a regular buyer of her wooden carvings as a result, placing them in his office. Safira had been touched when she had seen the figurines lined up in his office.

"Mila's growing up too fast," Chandra smiled, "Pretty soon you'll have to be chasing the boys off with a stick."

"I think they will know better than to even try," Safira grumbled lowly.

The soft laughter that followed was short-lived by the sudden appearance of Milagros rushing into the house, wide-eyed and visibly shaken. She was breathing raggedly, having ran with all her might.

"Mom, dad! T-The triplets!"

Safira and Quasimodo stood immediately, their expressions dark as they followed Milagros outside. The rest of the family darted soon after and they were met with the sight of a boy not much older than the triplets being attacked by the blondes. Zephyr was attempting, and failing, to pull at least one of the blondes off the boy who was fighting back despite being outnumbered.

Safira and Quasimodo gasped in alarm, rushing over immediately. Quasimodo grabbed Marie and Maurice in each of his arms with ease. Safira grabbed Marcel and struggled as he attempted to jump off his mother's arms in his fury.

The boy who they had been attacking stood up instantly, his face angry as his mother was soon rushing over in outrage. She began to question her son before Quasimodo and Safira even had a chance to find out what had happened.

"What in the world is going on?!" The woman exclaimed indignantly.

"Those brats attacked me!" He pointed at the triplets who were staring at him with deathly glares.

"Is this true?!" The mother grabbed her child protectively, staring at Safira and Quasimodo with deep disapproval.

"He said our father was a monster!" Marcel shouted, pointing at him accusingly.

"And he said mother was a crossdresser!"

Safira and Quasimodo exchanged glances before Safira patiently attempted to address the mother of the bully.

"Look, we're sorry-"

"As you should be!" The mother huffed, "But it's to be expected of children raised by such a freakish family."

Safira's patience disappeared. She grit her teeth as she nearly shoved Marcel into Quasimodo's arms, forcing the hunchback to juggle all three as she began to approach the woman dangerously. Quasimodo looked towards Phoebus pleadingly as his children continued to try and climb out of his grasp. Milagros gasped in obvious fear as her mother seemed to be storming towards the woman threateningly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Phoebus stepped in at this point, standing in between the woman and Safira, speaking down to Safira lowly, "The children, Safira."

Phoebus' words brought realization to Safira who never stopped staring at the woman. Her infamous blue eyes sending enough fear into the woman to shut her up.

"Come now, Leonard," The woman spoke quietly, "Let's go home."

Phoebus shifted to force Safira's eyes into his. She looked up at her brother, her expression tense but his own face was firm as he uttered a quiet reminder.

"You're not Sacha anymore."

She grit her teeth before dropping her gaze, nodding understandingly. She turned to face the family who were looking upon her almost expectantly. Her face broke out into a smile, dimples delving into her cheeks.

"Who's hungry?"

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Quasimodo and Safira sat in bed after having tucked their children in. Though Safira had put on a good act for the family after the little spat, Quasimodo could feel the heaviness in her heart. It wasn't until they were alone that he attempted to speak to her about what had happened.

"Are you alright?" He looked at her, her lips tightened as they always did when she was upset.

"I'm fine," She insisted but her tone suggested otherwise.

Quasimodo knew her better than that. He leaned forward, bringing a hand to her back, rubbing it soothingly.

"You're upset about what happened with the triplets."

"Of course I'm upset," She sighed as she ran a hand through her hair stressfully, "This is exactly what we never wanted them to go through… the taunting and bullying."

Quasimodo offered a gentle smile to the troubled woman. It was almost funny how the tables had turned between them. Initially, Quasimodo had been the one needing the reassurance that their children would be alright. As he looked at her now, he realized she needed that same assurance she had given him.

"When you stop and look at it," He began with a chuckle, "They handled it just like their mother would have."

His words were enough to bring a small smile out of her. She slid into his arms with a deep sigh, closing her eyes at the comforting feeling of his arms around her, his lips pressing against her forehead. Undeniably, the triplets had proven that they were not a force to be reckoned with. It still didn't bring anymore peace to the worried parents.

They sat in a comfortable silence, each engrossed in their thoughts as they held onto each other. Safira was almost grateful for the knock on their door that brought her out of her overthinking.

"Come in," Quasimodo called out.

They watched as one-by-one, their triplets stepped in. They stood with faces that could only be described as shame. Milagros followed last, standing behind her younger siblings as she urged them gently to step forward.

"Mom. Dad," Milagros spoke from behind them, "They have something they want to say to you."

"Oh?" Safira raised an eyebrow as she and Quasimodo watched them curiously.

"We're sorry we fought with Leonard today," Marcel started sadly.

"We just got so angry," Maurice added passionately.

"We tried to walk away like you told us we should do, daddy," Marie grumbled lowly, "But he wouldn't stop talking…"

Quasimodo and Safira's expressions softened as Milagros stood behind her siblings for moral support. They looked towards each other, struggling to keep the smiles off their faces. Turning back to their children, Safira extended her arms out, beckoning them into their bed. They rushed over to their parents immediately, the six of them adjusting themselves so accommodate them all on the bed.

As Quasimodo and Safira lay facing each other, Milagros cocooned herself in between them. Maurice lay against his father's hunched back, Marie sliding behind Safira's bent knees while Marcel did the same behind Quasimodo as their heads laying on their hips. Laying contently with their children piled around them, they were unprepared for the innocent question brought by Maurice.

"Why did Leonard say daddy was a monster?" He asked with child-like confusion as he pressed his cheek against his father's back.

Safira and Quasimodo looked at each other for a moment before Safira cleared her throat to answer.

"Because," Safira began carefully, "Daddy is the strongest man in all of France. And no normal person has the strength he does."

The effect of her words on the children were that of wonder.

"I want to be a monster when I grow up!" Maurice exclaimed excitedly.

"Me too!" Marcel agreed, "And I want to ring the bells like you do, daddy!"

"You will someday," Quasimodo chuckled, "For now, its bedtime."

Safira leaned down to kiss Milagros' red hair lovingly, reaching back to stroke Marie's golden locks as the children began to fall asleep. Quasimodo and Safira looked into each other's eyes knowingly, a silent agreement ensued between them.

As they closed their eyes, their children sleeping around them like wolves huddled for warmth, the unusual couple knew what they would face. Life was never easy for either of them. Both were unique beings, feared and ostracized for their differences and had found comfort in each other's brokenness. They had faced evil in the face and had done so together. Whatever evil their children would face, they would not do so alone.

Every step of their future, they would face all obstacles as they did that night:

Together.

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 **Author's Note:**

I, very emotionally, conclude this as the end of our story.

I started this story years ago and am so proud and joyous that I have finally finished it.

Thank you to everyone who read it, reviewed it, praised it, flamed it and helped me grow. You're amazing!

I plan on bringing more stories to life so if you enjoyed my writing style then subscribe to me as an author for any future stories I write!

XOXO

" _When life gives you something that makes you feel afraid, that's when life gives you a chance to be_ _brave."_


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